Corpses of trees
wearing electrified jewelry
bowing from a weight
not earned for their afterlife.
Our bones, if they are lucky,
rest in low earthy beds
no burden required of them
as the soul awaits a new age.
Burrows collapse
as we evict residents
unwanted in our unnatural world
pushing them somewhere we wouldn't live.
Concrete kingdoms rise
everyone a king of a box
that exhales smoke
into the ever darkening sky.
YOU ARE READING
Sitting Here Thinking (2020-2022)
PoetryPoetry of varying subjects and construction, the second of three. Written while sitting anywhere, lost in thought about everything and anything. Accolades: #1 Thought Provoking 2/26/2020 #1 Self-Reflection 3/22/2020 #1 Creative Writing 7/24/2020 #3...
