The Lost Tapes

Long black streamers catching light,
wrapped around posts and trees,
running through gutters and drains,
yards of brushed aside magnetic visions.

The lost boy with skin
covered in dolls coins
gets it caught around his ankle,
it clings on begging not to be forgotten.

Today’s children have destroyed
this disregarded memory of yesterday,
running down these empty streets
trailing it behind them.

Now they lie here in wait,
in search for some love from
other old forgotten souls
who might just remember them.

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