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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required There are skeletons in the wardrobe but they’re home and dry Looked after properly moth balled and yet unkindly falling apart Conscience is layered just as are subconscious wishes and fears Sometimes I play with the bones and take them to the junkyard They call it recycling but I offer them as they are as good as new Pennies for thoughts and a pound for forgetting two for the pair The tip is a maze of rubbish and indiscriminate waste laid to rest Waiting for an almighty crusher to dispose of false evidence Because memories can be tricky and biased and fail to disclose That perfect angle of disharmony revealing anger and pain As I scoop all sorts of garbage one by one into the oblivious skip A decomposed cartilage flies straight back into my worried mind ‘Don’t leave me here for I was the glue and cushioned your blows Never abandoned you when the road seemed hard and progress was slow’ Vertebrae mingle with screws bolts mesh wire and grinders but Refuse to go down without fight before reflecting the torn spine Of a book once loved and caressed and discarded without mercy Like the knowledge I could pass on from lonely and sleepless nights When metacarpals scratch an unwanted toy soldier they moan ‘Carpe diem’ but they feel like beggars next to graveyards of time Dis-balance reaches its heights when one femur remains in sight And hopes for increased shell fire or trigger at the bottom of the pile ‘Please God there must be a mercy killer waiting for fresh blood’ But the plea vanishes without echo and the wounds march ahead A frizzled rope dangles around what once was a neck and survives Between atlas and axis desperately trying not to become disconnected Wounds have dried yet injuries linger on but the Barbie Doll nurse Is too busy attending to make up and camouflage and waiting for Ken Thus the corpse has to make do with ribbons and medals to bandage A cascade of emotions and reasons and of confusion and doom Like a headless combatant I stand near the garbage and almost fall Into the deep aperture of depression that waits to be nourished I do not quite know what to do with myself and which way to go But then keep the skull as I might need it as housing for a vanishing mind Dig out a heel for good measure in case I decide to rock myself back to sleep While doomsday prevails I give thanks that my pillow still shelters my soul 25th October 2019
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