Plastic Bag
I'm like a plastic bag blown in the wind,
Carried by the cutting razor of a gust.
Though I'm my moving, my soul's also been pinned—
I roll through the smog, dripping with disgust.
Carried by the cutting razor of a gust,
I fray on my fringe, my heart's dissection.
I roll through the smog, dripping with disgust.
It seems I've been fouled by an infection.
I fray on my fringe, my heart's dissection—
Empty emotions crumble from disuse;
It seems I've been fouled by an infection,
A rotten feeling: leaking and effuse.
Empty emotions crumble from disuse;
Malnourished, they wither and quickly spoil.
A rotten feeling—leaking and effuse—
Tars the beach of my thoughts in thick, dark oil.
Malnourished, they wither and quickly spoil:
The molecules floating in the fresh air
Tars the beach of my thoughts in thick, dark oil.
One wonders if one could still respire there.
The molecules floating in the fresh air
Disperse, dirtied in clouds of jet-black smoke.
One wonders if one could still respire there.
Now, it seems one is more lik'ly to choke.
Disperse, dirtied in clouds of jet-black smoke,
The sky fills with a blighted disease.
Now, it seems one is more lik'ly to choke,
Strangled by a swift, corrugated breeze.
The sky fills with a blighted disease
And all purity has fin'lly been thinned.
Strangled by a swift, corrugated breeze,
I am like a plastic bag blowing in the wind.
poem by Tim Stensloff
Added by Poetry Lover
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