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Pickup the trash

Don't push it!
Words will appear, and disappear..
You glimpse a thread, and pull it towards,
Hoping to weave a tapestry,
With vibrant colors,
Or darker hues.
One moment you see it all,
You feel it!!
It's dark.

Like a room full of stuff.
Living stuff!
The desk, the chair,
And a shirt hung, that we once shared.
A closet, A bed,
A trashbin, and the flowers placed right above.
Flowers that are dry, and weeks old.
But their purple color is very bright, still.
Against a wall that's empty, and white.

I kneel, pick up the lone peace of trash,
The carpet is clean,
It's a scrambled white paper.
A receipt,
From one warm evening!
For a pair of cold ice creams.
I toss it into the trash,
beneath the flowers,
Whom you know,
Will soon follow.

It will be clean, then,
And empty, truly.

I will open the windows,
Hang colorful tapestries,
Nail soulful paintings,
And place flowering succulents,

I will try,
To fill the void,
Left by the flowers,
Bright, purple,
And once,
Were fully alive!


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