There is a bank in your town
where people look to invest
or discuss a thing they want,
have lost, or need.
This thing is something they have tried
to find when scrolling
through rails in stores’
to buy the thing only to discover
the thing was not the thing at all.
It’s then they sneak at midnight
on a well-trodden trail
to the fridge
to pilfer fancy fondants
and place them in their yawning mouths
in hope to fill their empty spaces
but like cement, they sit heavy,
It is unfathomable why they try to find a thing
that sits like a toothbrush,
their pillow, or fireside blanket,
on the windowsill of their life.
This thing is knowledge and advice,
challenge, friendship, fun,
There will be no invoice, compound interest,
no debt, no bailiff
in suit with clipboard
pushing your front door, no
But if you give this thing away, or
give it back,
finally fill the gaps.
About the Creator
Inhaling life, exhaling stories, poetry, prose, flash or fusions. An imperfect perfectionist who writes and recycles words. I write because I love how it feels to make ink patterns & form words, like pictures, on a page.
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