deepundergroundpoetry.com
Yard Sale
Vultures circling,
waiting for death,
Smelling the dying of my fight
Wolf packs gathering,
salivating,
sensing weakness,
bringing prey to their knees
Yet I stand within the storm,
protected by my sign
'Yard sale 8 to 2 - no early birds'
Unleashing the horde,
ripping and tearing
Will they see my loving memories,
through the haze of feral greed?
Will the bones of my life,
so carefully displayed,
be gnawed upon once again?
Or will they die,
at the end of the day,
forgotten on Wednesday's
trash pick up day?
waiting for death,
Smelling the dying of my fight
Wolf packs gathering,
salivating,
sensing weakness,
bringing prey to their knees
Yet I stand within the storm,
protected by my sign
'Yard sale 8 to 2 - no early birds'
Unleashing the horde,
ripping and tearing
Will they see my loving memories,
through the haze of feral greed?
Will the bones of my life,
so carefully displayed,
be gnawed upon once again?
Or will they die,
at the end of the day,
forgotten on Wednesday's
trash pick up day?
Published 8th Dec 2021
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Anonymous
- Edited 9th Apr 2022 5:45am
8th Dec 2021 8:43pm
<< post removed >>
I LOVE yard sales but I can't help thinking of all the lost memories. However, my own sale was ...... traumatic, to say the least. I didn't want to sell anything even though I didn't need any of it. I got a little emotional. Thank you for commenting, HUGS.
