Wreckage
Like seagulls eating our sandwichesThe 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 989 times
Written on 2017-02-04 at 23:39




|
![]() |
Eli |