The Doormat
THE DOORMAT
Closing its eyes
The doormat sighs
A sad rough tired sigh that breaks my heart
It cannot move, for the wounds will ache
It cannot stretch,, for the joints are all worn.
A sad smile curls its lips
As it mind wanders back
To those days it was new
And gleamed like crystal dew in the morning sun
When it smelt all fresh and new.
But no more.
It remembers well
Those boots…that over the years
Grind it to dust
Those shoes new and worn
That crashed its bones and relished it.
And like a dummy it lay there
Unmoving yet not unable
It remembers all that blood
That came from its broken limbs
When its bones were crashed
Under the brute force of a heel
It lay in a pool sometimes of blood
That spewed from its many limbs
Sometimes of vomit and others of filth
And the sweat of a thousand men
Onto it fibers forever stamped
It gasped and choked on all em fumes
And as it lay there,
Bleeding and dying,
Full of gaping wounds…unmended
It smiled a half Monalisa smile
As its eyes closed and the memories begun to fade
Finally rest had arrived and...
The door mat breathed its very last
and embraced that peace, full eternal rest
That to it did call.
Copyright © Marion Mwangi | Year Posted 2015
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