Black Bags Poem by David Lovell

Disillusioned
Loss of inspiration
I have so little left to give
Like the knees of jeans reduced to a few strands of thread
What am I doing here? What is the purpose?
My heart longs to be elsewhere,
So I die like a tree losing its leaves
Slowly, one by one, they drop
When the cold wind blows they fall in a multitude
So tired from raking my yard
But inches of dead leaves won’t let the grass grow
When spring comes to bring life anew
I bag it all up from the large piles
And smile as the Man comes to take away my large black bags