Misery Is a Suitcase
Misery Is A Suitcase
Brown, mundane, common,
Covered in postage
Stamps. Displaying, holding, all
of Their memories that once were.
Children throw it
Back and forth, wearing the faintest
Of smiles as the corners begin to
Fade. Mothers hold it close
To their chests as a
Tear drips from their eyes,
Knowing that this brown rectangle,
Carries all that is left of them, their
Poor, unvalued lives.
Fathers inhaling deeply, stuffing
All they can fit in it. Leaving what is
Most important, behind. They grab it
In their hands and march away, grip keeps
Getting tighter the farther they walk
Down the road. As the wind begins to
Blow, they know,
What now remains in their possession, may soon be
Taken away.
Brown, mundane, common,
Covered in postage
Stamps. Displaying, holding, all
of Their memories that once were.
Children throw it
Back and forth, wearing the faintest
Of smiles as the corners begin to
Fade. Mothers hold it close
To their chests as a
Tear drips from their eyes,
Knowing that this brown rectangle,
Carries all that is left of them, their
Poor, unvalued lives.
Fathers inhaling deeply, stuffing
All they can fit in it. Leaving what is
Most important, behind. They grab it
In their hands and march away, grip keeps
Getting tighter the farther they walk
Down the road. As the wind begins to
Blow, they know,
What now remains in their possession, may soon be
Taken away.