Layers and layers Of dirt and grime Years of neglect And chipping paint Peeling away All the broken layers Of a life, Slowing peeling each one Like a summer sunburn Basking in the bright colors All the stories beneath. The stories, Still killing me slowly. Sometimes I fear I will never find The raw wood that lies... Somewhere deep below The painted years of neglect. The restoration is painful And the layers of story Are tinged with guilt And indignity Of complete and utter Indulgence. The wood beneath, Damaged from the days of the storm May still be salvageable Sanded down with patience And persistence Revealing the natural vein of the wood. And I am left with raw wood, A thing unfinished. Sanded smooth And well cared for Surrounded by the paint, Chipped away stories Lying in ruin Discarded pieces All around this work of art.
- Item Tag: recovery poetry