White cushioned and bare
devoid of satin sheets
one pillow now
with no cover on
Stripped away the old
but the memories of then
remain like an imprint
on the springs and mattress,
of long nights
and love
and fights
sweat and blood stains
long removed
from hurt and need
in the bedroom
Sitting still and framed
against the wall
it seems to be a welcoming
open coffin
if the ways of yesterday
cannot be removed
upturned and flipped
to the other untainted side
if the sheets spinning
in the washer can't do the job
then it's a lost cause
and this mattress once used
will be forget

Poem Rating:
Click To Rate This Poem!

Continue Rating Poems

Share This Poem