Heaven Holds the Rest
Dead cars decorate the field
behind an old Texaco station
that smells of grease and gasoline
This is their graveyard:
a place to rest and rust
as relics of yesteryear
Fords, Plymouths, Chevrolets,
mirrored monuments of the past
sleep peacefully in the grass
Shards of glass spatter floor mats
like pieces of puzzles
no one cares to put together
Ripped seats, pitted chrome
rotten rubber, faded paint
telltale signs of a lost battle
The playground for adventurous boys
they pretend to steer these beauties
along one last mile of highway
Treasure hunters scavenge
name tags, license plates, hood ornaments
the last source of identity
After all, in the end
name and reputation
are all that's left on this earth
Heaven holds the rest.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
