Mark ye well their vast estate,
the dreams they left to rot,
the victims of apathy--
of fate--
of wisdom men forgot.
Of apple orchards drenched with blood
and bubbles in the air--
of simple, fleeting, selfish thoughts--
here and gone without a care.
Of sewage systems overrun
and yellowed plains of sod.
Of opportunities abused
to walk where Fame had trod.
Mark ye well their vast estate--
the clouds devoid of rain,
the souls and flowers,
wilting fast,
the numbness masked with pain.














Critiques
Thank you for your Critique
You are not logged in.