Stains From Muddied Yesterdays
There's a pile of sullied threads
from our muddied yesterdays
of a life we stripped bare
to be thrown into the wash
a hoard of soiled toggery
too foul to be cleansed
I tried to bury all of it
but the shovel of hurt
blistered my hand
pervading memories
suffused in my thoughts
inured scent of us lingers
unbleached... unwashed
well worn and ill-used
how long before I can ignore them
gathered in an alcove in my mind
these dark stains of discontent
too tainted to be purified
with human hands
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