Relics
We lie, two broken paper clips
Within the ashtray of desire,
Surrounded by the butts of dreams
That all have lost their former fire.
We clasp like rusted safety pins,
Impale our meager threads of thought,
And cling in desperation to
The tarnished images we sought.
We sift among the silt that films
Our life’s collection of debris,
To find just one accomplishment
And etch it in the memory.
And though we try to rise above
Corrupting greed and selfish lust,
For all our efforts we remain
Decaying relics in the dust.