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Shibboleths

Money curls like burning leaves in wisps of smoke filled dreams
Around the broken boulevards that line The Royal Scam of Pentagram Hill
The wasted breaths, the useless deaths accrue
As they take a bow for the red white and blue
Secrets repeat in echoing shadow canyons
Digital prisons built for hollow souls
Building mountains for moles with boxes of crayons
Draw them in, throw them out
Deaf, dumb, mute and blind
These horrible sights, unbelievable sounds , Light screams
Money curls like burning leaves in wisps of smoke filled dreams




Poetry by Chaucer Whethers The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 210 times
Written on 2022-11-11 at 21:52

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