Wreckage

Like seagulls eating our sandwiches
The ghosts of past traumas
Flap about my home pecking at
Morsels laid out for a feast:
Gobbling down the crust of a
A thousand days and nights
Flying off with the cheese
Sliced at midnight for a second chance.
Scavenging the treasures
Of a life fed harvest
They're worse than magpies after silver
As my best intentions become
Their lunch.



Poetry by Maija Liepins
Read 968 times
Written on 2017-02-04 at 23:39

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Scavengers are only to happy to dig and pick over bones until...well until themes nothing..which brings a kind of freedom. Hurty feelings here.
2017-02-05


Eli The PoetBay support member heart!
This puts an ache firmly in my chest. I love the quirky way you play around with extended metaphor.
2017-02-05