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Junk
13 October, 2004
Author: Mark Spencer

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She stood quietly on the edge,
Looking at the waves crashing below.
Knowing nobody would miss her,
Doubting anyone would even know.

Alone in a sea of people,
That is the way the world made her feel.
No purpose to her existence,
Trapped in a nightmare that wasn’t real.

There were never any answers,
No one there to see her through the strife.
Just a piece of cosmic garbage,
Clinging to a lonely, useless life.

She wondered if the fall would hurt.
What if she didn’t die right away?
Knowing her luck, she might survive,
Crippled by the choice she made today.

Maybe then people would notice.
Of course, many would try not to stare.
She wouldn’t be invisible,
At least, people would notice the chair.

As she stood there in reflection,
She heard a strangely familiar voice.
She turned to see a little girl,
Begging her not to make the wrong choice.

“Mommy, you don’t want to do this.
You don’t know how important you are.
Who is going to be my Mother,
If your light flickers out like a star?”

The child became a teenager,
As she addressed the woman once more.
“Who will pick me up when I fall,
If your advice, I choose to ignore?”

And then the vision changed again,
A young woman was standing there now.
She asked: “Who will plan my wedding,
When I’ve chosen to make such a vow?”

Again the apparition changed,
An elderly woman took her hand.
“There is something I must show you,
I think it will help you understand.”

Then suddenly, all around her,
Stood a crowd of people, young and old.
“Each of these are your descendants.”
It was truly a sight to behold.

Then the vision began to fade,
And only the little girl remained.
“Mommy I’m depending on you,
Do you understand what I’ve explained?”

“Every person has a purpose,
Some will pass life’s tests, others will flunk.
But every soul is important.
God is not the creator of junk.”

With that, the vision disappeared.
And life’s meaning came into view.
All have a reason for living,
There’s a plan and a purpose for you.

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Comments on this poem/writing:

Megan (67.124.151.38) -- Thursday, October 14 2004, 01:32 pm

Why do you call it Junk? It's a treasure.

Wow Mark! I can really relate to this one!
Mark Spencer (67.127.54.120) -- Friday, October 15 2004, 02:28 am

Thanks Megan

I call it Junk because many people who suffer from this kind of depression, see themselves as junk. If you can relate to the poem, then you know what I mean. God bless.

Mark
Jasmine (68.122.70.115) -- Tuesday, October 19 2004, 07:21 am

I really needed this. Thank you.

I really needed this. Thank you for posting it.

Jasmine
shiloh (67.251.100.215) -- Wednesday, July 1 2009, 03:36 am

goosebumps...

haven't read anything this strong in a long, long time.
extremely enjoyable; time well spent in the reading.
barb (67.58.197.120) -- Wednesday, July 1 2009, 06:02 am

beautiful write

I am so glad I read this .You are right we all have a reason why we are here.Big or small reasons, it is important to the circle of life.
 
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