Junk Of My Junk Poem by shimon weinroth

Store-room, cellar, attic, basement,
Shed memories for the dead
Weight of past times, lined against
The walls or scattered, helter skelter

Sitting lying, gathering dust, rust and mold
So old, even rats, cats and insects ignore
Items packages and trunks, stashed, stacked away
Piles upon piles, inert unmoving, lustrless and sad

Un beckoning, hidden away from the sun
Till lit by an electric bulb and inventory of memory
Safely deposited on evey article, which with time
Has lost its glamour and shine

Turns to mass, is classed as waste and junk, thrown out
Dispatched discarded, carried away in garbage trucks
At one time disposal was more romantic by mule and cart
Or a junk dealer might cast a glance to negotiate and appraise

Now, it's all ecological plague
That takes up space and real estate
Memories of gone-bye, flesh of my self
Ashes to ashes dust to dust
Junk of my junk, bury my memories
It's so unjust