The Trash - Poem by melissa mundy
In the endless nights
that follow her death,
I gather my trash bags
and swing them like a weapon
as I cross the black cement walk.
The shadows wrap themselves around me
stealing what little breath she left me.
Her eyes glow through the stars
as she watches
the wind whispers her warning
there are no second chances.
The dumpster waits patiently
behind towering steel walls.
The lid creaks a shrill hello
as I reach high above my head
and fling the bags into the black hole
I cannot see but can smell
fetid odors of others lives
lived no more.
Unholy fear burns my lungs
as I turn on my heel
into the blackness created
by whoever threw her away.
Comments about The Trash by melissa mundy
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
- Still I RiseMaya Angelou
- The Road Not TakenRobert Frost
- If You Forget MePablo Neruda
- DreamsLangston Hughes
- Annabel LeeEdgar Allan Poe
- IfRudyard Kipling
- Stopping By Woods On A Snowy EveningRobert Frost
- Do Not Stand At My Grave And WeepMary Elizabeth Frye
- I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love YouPablo Neruda
- TelevisionRoald Dahl