A poem poorly written

A picture is worth 1000 words. This safe has been through a lot. Tell its story. Image credit: “safe” – © 2007 Paul Keller – made available under Attribution 2.0 Generic

I am just a poor safe

My story’s seldom told

I started as iron

From a mine,

Through heat, and moulding

Where half of myself was molded off

Polished, shaped, added

To what? I look like every other safe now.

Sent off to a house, where I was needed

But not wanted. I took up their space

I took in their clothes

At other, luckier times,

I took in their books

I took in their wealth

And then came the storm

And then came the water

They ran away

Leaving me, and my contents within me

They took their wealth

They took their money

Leaving me alone

‘Make it stop,’ I cried

To myself

Did it hurt? No.

They need me, don’t they?

But they don’t want me.

I came out of that storm

Smelling, old

They replaced me

With a shiny new metal

Shiny, bright, polished

It mocked me,

My mirror was broken

My doors were creaking

I was old

I was not

So then they called him

He weighed me, and told a price

Not enough, I said

I am worth more

Wasn’t I?

They shipped me off

My back broken,

My front crooked

And then, they just put me off

Away from the maddening crowd

Away from everything else

That’s it. No burglary

No, sir, no

I was a good safe

The fighter still remains

But, of what use was I?

When they threw me out like that?

Alone, sad, useless.

Here I lie now

Life in me

Used, overused

In the middle of nowhere.

Another reason not to write poetry. 


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