There is a junkyard,
Full of our greed.
Where silver spoons lay behind opulent dirt.
A place of broken bottles and shattered dreams,
Children's toys and toppled houses' beams.
A place of strange antiquity,
Though trodden down.
Black where gold once shimmered,
Light where now is dark.
Blankets torn and tattered,
Like those inside the home.
Battered and worn-
Being dragged amongst such common dirt,
Where optimism once was shed.
The wood, the nails, the beams,
That kept my family's means.
Now they go,
away
Pawned,
away
Disintegrate,
away.
None will stay.
But I'll stay here and rebuild
her,
With the tools I have left.
Trees and vines,
Mud and clay,
I'll find a way.
When I finish I'll still
be alone,
But free,
Away from life's debris,
In my own junkyard,
Just for Me.
