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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
A poem called Garbage. It is good.

Submitted: March 15, 2013

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Submitted: March 15, 2013





Blisters in my mind of sorrow,

A feast of worms in a tree so hollow,

Gasping, spitting all of life,

Another song that was overhyped,

A field of dreams  not realised,

Vomit consuming  the sanitised,

Spacious dirt within my nails,

The shit of dogs, that slime of snails,

Our worries conveying household finance,

 Muddled with the scent of underpants,

The paralysis of modern clothes,

A flower bought to those betrothed,

The square that moves beneath her toes,

Those thorns found in a romantic rose,

The storm inside the head expires,

From too many drinks and funeral fires,

No more pain for you or I,

Let us sleep to the sound of lullabies,

For there and then the fairies climb,

Upon our stench they do thrive,

But I won`t cry for yesterday,

Ordinary worlds have gone in disarray,

But still we fight again and again,

The weak, the poor and insane,

But never fear, my love, my jewel,

This world won`t always be so cruel,

We say we are, we say we`re not,

Putrid slime in place of rot,

Hence we smile as we should,

For nothing now can be of any good!

© Copyright 2018 E M Lyng. All rights reserved.