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The Recycled Human



Tiny pieces of each of us are always breaking down,
after every hardship in our lives.
Small pieces of our soul snatched away from us,
taken forever and put into the dust bin.

Garbage is what we have become,
but does there hope remain,
for the recycled human,
for that of all those tiny little pieces created,
of hearts and souls and brains,
that have been broken by pain.

Tiny fragments of imagination and culture,
obducted from our bodies like a vulture snatching at it's prey.
Puny lumps just caught away like nothing,
like they were nothing to anyone,
straight into the dust bin.

Garbage is what we have become,
but does there hope remain,
for the recycled human,
for that, of all those tiny little pieces created,
of imagination and culture and souls,
that have been broken by force.

Insignificant remnants of our past lives,
of our sights and smells,
skinned from our bare bodies.
Minute slivers scratched from our backs,
and thrown in to the dust bin.

Garbage is what we have become,
but does there hope remain,
for the recycled human,
for that, of all those tiny little pieces created,
of skin and backs and souls,
that have been taken and left in anguish.
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Submitted on January 04, 2017

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