Cardboard House

I dream of a place,

Where I can travel the world,

Sit in all four corners of the globe,

And whizz over all seven continents.

 

I get up from a cardboard bed,

In a cardboard room,

In a cardboard house,

I walk over to a cardboard cupboard,

And stare hopefully at its forever emptiness,

The hope died years ago.

 

I walk into a patchwork field,

And sigh at the unreality,

No green just red,

The reality died years ago.

 

I trek over plastic bottles,

Plastic bags,

And plastic sheets,

None of it means anything anymore,

The meaning died years ago.

 

My foot scuffs,

On a copper coin,

I stare at it,

I can’t get excited,

My excitement died years ago.

 

I snaffle half a hamburger,

From a newly dumped load,

The words on the box blur,

I don’t care anymore,

The care died years ago.

 

In amongst the mush,

Rusty metal cuts against my foot,

Be infected by morning,

I pocket it thoughtlessly,

The thought died years ago.

 

I sold my pocketful of treasures,

Clamping the money in my fist,

I didn’t argue at the unfair price,

That would mean spirit,

The spirit died years ago.

 

I went back to my cardboard house,

In my cardboard room,

In my cardboard bed,

And take in the unhomeliness,

My real home died years ago.

 

I dream of a place,

Where I can travel the world,

Sit in all four corners of the globe,

And whizz over all seven continents.

 

By Lyra

3 thoughts on “Cardboard House”

  1. Lyra-powerfully put! Thought-provoking! A poem that everyone should read and wake up to what we are doing to the world!

  2. The imagery in this poem is fantastically vivid and the “died years ago” refrain gives it real power. Well done, Lyra!

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