Photograph by Mark
___________________
You left us.
That's it.
I'm not coming back you say.
Not even a backward glance
at the faces of the children you fathered.
No.
None at all.
You left us here to decay.
Slowly it happened.
Slowly.
Slowly we fell apart.
Came undone.
Rusty in the ways of love
Scared to hold close
To something
For fear it too would leave us.
Leave us here broken.
The decay wasn't right away.
At first, all was fine.
Except for the the long nights
Full of hidden tears.
But soon.
But soon we slipped into
Our own little pathways.
We stood separated
A family no more.
Now.
Now we are decayed.
We are rusted.
Unable to love.
For the love that was ripped away.
Leaving us.
Leaving us here, scarred in ways
You will NEVER know.
We are a ruin.
We are the decay of a fairytale.
A fairytale once.
A long, long time
ago.
_we_the_pieces_
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8 comments:
There used to be a town here.
Long ago, when gas cost
A few cents a gallon -- there
Used to be a whole town.
Then the mine played out,
The company shut it down,
An' most everybody moved away.
Now the school is deserted,
The bar/post office is almost empty.
I'm the last one still around,
But I'm staying to the bitter end.
Decay is nature's way of making room for the new.
But one thing that will last forever
Is my love for you.
Remnants of 1975...OPEC's first assault on controlling the oil marketplace. Once a bustling family owned service station, now falls into decay. Now only the large conglomerates can survive and even their future again rests with OPEC in the 2nd assault.....
Dan
Decay
Regular and Ethyl
standing side by side
like two tombstones
on the city's landscape.
That could be me and the wife
sitting side by side
like two old cars
on an abandoned lot.
Time marches on
but few things are timeless.
Old gives way to new,
but old doesn't go away.
It just sits there
and decays.
One day I saw a sign on a fallen tree in a state park in Iowa:
"This fallen tree supports 57 life forms."
Decay is not death.
It is a foundation.
It fuels the future.
Empty Pumps,
An audio tape of a food blender crunching ice cubes, slowed to a crawl speed. Imagine that. Slower.. The river washed stone gravel under the tires producing a hideous rumble being crushed from the weight of the ancient Oldsmobile hearse. The red light glowed from the instrument panel indicating that the engine had died. Died? A befitting description to a hulk of machinery that had almost reached the end of its usefulness. Only six more miles to reach its destination for the night, or maybe forever. But, the hollow tank that had held the elixir of life for the thundering power engine was bone dry. A simple transfusion. New life not restored, but extended. Six more miles, just six more miles.
The gaunt dark figure shuffled over to the pumps that would breath a small amount of life into the last “ride”. The activated lever gave no response. Again, nothing. The pumps were expired. Nothing. He turned to face the once magnificent machine. The once brightly lit beacons that had shone the path through many nights of darkness were now draining. Dimmer , and dimmer until there was only a slight glow. The stooped chauffeur simply opened the back end door, crawled inside and gently placed himself in a pone position and the door shut with a resounding thud.
thank you for letting me post. Comment welcome at
www.glnroz33.blogspot.com
You left us.
That's it.
I'm not coming back you say.
Not even a backward glance
at the faces of the children you fathered.
No.
None at all.
You left us here to decay.
Slowly it happened.
Slowly.
Slowly we fell apart.
Came undone.
Rusty in the ways of love
Scared to hold close
To something
For fear it too would leave us.
Leave us here broken.
The decay wasn't right away.
At first, all was fine.
Except for the the long nights
Full of hidden tears.
But soon.
But soon we slipped into
Our own little pathways.
We stood separated
A family no more.
Now.
Now we are decayed.
We are rusted.
Unable to love.
For the love that was ripped away.
Leaving us.
Leaving us here, scarred in ways
You will NEVER know.
We are a ruin.
We are the decay of a fairytale.
A fairytale once.
A long, long time
ago.
I figured I'd best do something with this photo...
Decay
I remember the days riding in the front seat of the Baracuda, on our way to Gram’s house…but stopping to get gas first.
I remember mommy pulling up to the pump and the boy would come running out to pump the Baracuda full.
Those days, it didn’t cost a week’s paycheck to fill a car…but it was still hard.
Those days, I think two dollars made the tank full…but it didn’t matter.
I remember wondering what it was all about, in those days.
I remember, most of all, the freedom to stand; to stand in the front seat of that Baracuda…all the way to Gram’s house!
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