back with a vengeance
i stand in the loft
sifting through memories
as kids, we called it
'the rotten spot'
father fixed it up.
now we just call it 'the barn'
i see it slowly rotting again
falling from the walls
sister smears cigarette ash with her foot
father wants to leave, she says
he told mom and it's
the memories rust
smashed to dust.
the devil's whisper
will blow them
as tomorrow melts
love will come
but not to
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Comments about this poem (back with a vengeance by Jonny Brackney )
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