Sunday, February 22, 2015

5. the melancholia of rust

The discarded,
in a broken heap
of sad tarnish,
lie mercilessly eviscerated
where bright usefulness
met its redundancy.

A funereal pyre
without the sweet lick of fire
to purge and cleanse,
troubled only by swaggering gulls
and inquisitive children
in search of treasure.

The melancholia of rust
an ignoble misery
of distress.

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