avatarD. Wyn Price

Summary

The poem "Clearance" reflects on the feeling of being overlooked and undervalued, ultimately leading to disposal.

Abstract

"Clearance" is a poignant poem that uses the metaphor of withered fruit to explore themes of rejection and obsolescence. The narrator describes a journey from being fresh and full of potential to becoming withered and unwanted, despite numerous attempts to attract interest through discounts and promotions. The poem conveys a sense of despair as the narrator is repeatedly passed over, leading to a final act of being discarded. It touches on the pain of not being recognized for one's inherent worth and the inevitability of being replaced or forgotten with time. The poem is a contemplation on the nature of value and the human tendency to overlook what is not immediately appealing, despite the possibility of underlying beauty or worth.

Opinions

  • The author expresses a deep sense of being undervalued and unappreciated, despite initial promise and potential.
  • There is a palpable frustration with the process of being marked down and offered for free, yet still unwanted.
  • The poem suggests that society often fails to see beyond superficial imperfections to recognize intrinsic value.
  • A sense of resignation is conveyed as the narrator accepts their fate of being tossed away, reflecting on the lack of appreciation for their past virtues.
  • The poem reflects on the theme of impermanence and the cyclical nature of being in vogue, then outdated and discarded.
  • The author seems to critique the disposable culture that quickly moves on without acknowledging the worth of individuals or objects.
Photo by Michal Hlaváč on Unsplash.

Clearance; a poem,

Alas, my search is fruitless, Just withered on the vine, Left till ancient, rotted, Nothing left to find.

Once fresh, and whole, Left for far too long, Never quite right for anyone, Till my shine was gone.

No discount or promotion, No deals that could be made, Slowed anyone down to look at me, I just watched the parade.

Marked down many times, Even tried to give me away, And still nobody wanted me, Depression and dismay.

Till finally the day would come, When my time at last had past, And removed and discarded, I was tossed into the trash.

No one gave me value, Or saw potential in me, Once I was collected, Plucked virtuous from the tree.

I was not special, It was just my time, I could be plucked and sold, Or left to wither on the vine.

blemished, darken, imperfect, Yet still sweet below the skin, Cast away, rejected, The lost and found of men.

a poem by D. Wyn. Price, All Rights Reserved, 2020.

Self-awareness
Sacrifice
Love
Poetry
Blue Insights
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