Lost Ground (Poetry)

I’ve thrown away the things I loved
and kept too much I don’t
I can’t remember all their names —
that list of gods I won’t
need again — their time expired
each picture taken down —
the failure of one special face
to turn my luck around.

I dare not measure ground that’s lost —
cold rooms in darkness stay
choked with all those broken things
I couldn’t toss away —
a useless waste of all the space
I might have painted bright
and filled again with shallow loves
to pass away the night.

I brood my share of empty shells —
the chicks of passion fled —
I turn their fragile memories —
anonymous, long-dead.
I dream old flesh can resurrect —
lost chance might yet return
and find me clutching one last straw
saved from the stack that burn.