Debris of a life

in the debris of a life
there is never found comfort or
useful desire for its remains
like stale pizza molding
among scattered paper
a collage embellished
by cans of flat soda
rank crumbs upon the floor
a child has been here
with a chant of rhymes
stories of the big bad wolf
the worst kind of evidence
of unfulfilled destiny
is there an answer to be found
derived from this discarded past
no beautiful swarm of butterflies
no thrill of accomplishment
no ship of love at the dock no
they have skirted this room
avoided the attracted sting of flies
pests laying their larvae of criticism
it is the insects reward to devour
feast upon ones disparate offal
to consume the rubbish collected
in the debris of a life

© 2010, Donald Harbour
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14 thoughts on “Debris of a life

  1. I do sense your wish to return to more natural ways, where the crap doesn’t pile up mainly because there are so few of us remaining. It is quite obvious that we are not qualified to clean up after ourselves.

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  2. I find a certain sadness in your poem, almost a yearning. The things we leave behind us, often still contain some element of our energies. I would hope that at least some of it would not be considered debris, but something more useful.

    Elizabeth

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  3. helloooooooooooo Donald….great to connect and read your words again….I agree about your style…i like it too…thanks for sharing and happy trails

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  4. ‘debris of life’ is such a poignant phrase – to me. It speaks a world of submerged longing. Nicely crafted poem -this is a fine read, thoughtfully written.

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  5. That phrase “certain comfort” was beguiling. When I read your half-eaten scene I saw all the movies with bachelor-squalor filling the screen. Not that that matters, but I thought you might like to know where I was taken ;-).

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