Home
I once went traveling on a prescribed trip;
Saw the peace we've yet to create
And the roots of anger in our unweeded slate.
I saw a people in this altered state
Carrying their shattered hope,
Burrying their roots in concrete graves
Beside their peacefull dreams of a natural way.
Living days of lifetimes
With the graves in check,
Each member growing
Bigger and better,
Higher and faster,
New and improved
Dreams...
...of wet cement
To patch over the cracks in the grave,
To maintain the vigil of scrimp and save.
Mimicing the roots they over pave.
Growing in darkness
Themselves as a slave
To a pile of crap
That they call home.
However, I saw this vision on a prescribed trip
And to show any little truth in it
I must eliminate my title as hypocrite
By telling you I tend my own pile of
Stuff...
...that I call home.
Go back to Main.
Go back to poem list.
Email: solace1369@hotmail.com
