I found it lying there next to my tired bed.
Amongst the dirty clothes, old booze and pictures of broken things like you and I.
It must have fallen from my pocket,
Having been placed there at the moment of sleep.
The clockwork again.
But this little thing, sort of dirty, lies there,
Ready,... almost asking to be forgotten.
Its frail and a little faded, bleeding out its colours.
Sad, kind of,... but not morose or regretted,
We are just taught to put these things behind us.
There seems no real significance to it,
No meaning to suggest a deserved reverence,
No demand for respect or benevolence,
It doesn't even inspire the desire to keep it somewhere safe.
No it's like the others I've found and placed in the recycle bin
To be taken where it won’t exist anymore.
Waste Management.
Yesterdays are like that, their value is rarely known until they line up in a group and you find that they were the most important things you've ever thrown away.
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