Suburbia falls with light

Traveling men of frail futility
grinds their dust into dull life,
fading pages into transit.
Days no one will claim
die in total squalor.

At home with plain attributes,
belonging and a blind eye
keeps the dark shift at bay.
Life is a refuge, a water hole,
a desert with a burning ire.




Poetry by Bob
Read 530 times
Written on 2011-06-09 at 23:30

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jenks The PoetBay support member heart!
i like this for its perception
and the way you have made us travel
burn away :)
2011-06-09