Friday, July 8, 2011


Will tomorrow ever come? Will it be different
From all the tomorrows that I’ve had so far?
All the hopes and dreams I’ve sought to have answered
Seem to have moved even further than a star.

Shall I forget what might have been and see reality
That there’s nothing much of anything for me?
I’m a not a shooting star but just a shadow
A reflection of what someone else might see.

I sit here; I’m a pond amongst the refuse
That those visiting humans left for me.
They came, they saw, and then they dropped their rubbish
As if it was a gift they left for me.

Oh yes, they stopped, and sat, and looked at their reflection
In my water, not as clear as it used to be
I wonder what they saw. They didn’t like it
For they tossed all their rubbish into me.

If I were clean I could reflect God’s Creation
As the moon and stars shine down upon me
But my image is marred, I’m ugly and scarred
Can anyone find beauty now in me?

I dreamed that one day someone came to clean me
That they dragged all this rubbish away
But they only did it once and then another’s response
Was to toss more bags of garbage my way.

July 2011.

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