Trash…

The reason I write, to alleviate that which exists within,

To spare myself an obligatory yet obvious crash, such a sin,

To make myself smile, thereby bringing on the same from you, not a sin,

To enjoy my inner self, as getting in touch with same, one can hear quite a din…

Echoes in my mind, easily explained, head is empty, but perfect sight of the hind,

My mind has yet to be fully explored, as I cannot find the key,

It is past eaten, by the drugs that I have explored, yes, quite fully,

Am I about to say herein, “don’t do drugs, they are bad, your brain gets fried”, NOT,

I would say that, yes, things can get done to the brain so weird,

When we do drugs that are actually doing us, takes our brains out of gear…

Now how did I get to the fact of doing drugs?

What was my initial statement meant to be, supposedly accomplished, herein?

I cannot recall as you can well imagine, from drug usage that impairs the synapses,

But to see my name of this poem, TRASH, even though another idea had pervaded,

I seem to think that, in reality, another, better thought made itself known,

Flowing out of my brain, that I had thought had somehow drained,

But I write this as I think it, by the word, rather than the line or even the thought…

So much trash we as writers have accumulated, in point of fact, as well,

We as human beings have so much accumulated trash; we could make a new planet,

From what we have dumped into this one, will we someday send our trash into space?

Littering the planets of our solar system, firstly freeze dried, then sent,

We seem to be; yes all of us are, so completely and readily bent,

On being the conquerors of this solar system we live in,

Nothing else we have will show those from other worlds,

How thoroughly and completely we have conquered our system,

Than to have our trash in mounds and/or spread about,

Other planets, moons and asteroids, without a doubt…

                        © ed – 3/21/04