Jan 8
Flashing lights and late nights.
Nothing better than a moving picture.
The ball and chain for my fixture.
An addiction, most beholding is fiction.
Lies and news are all the same.
Play on repeat in my brain.
Oh little man, little man,
How you tell of magnificent tales.
And promote in used car sales.
What a classy sight to see.
Images of elegance dance on the screen.
But now Marilyn a has been.
Flashes of colour fill the hour.
Yet the world outside waits.
A society trapped in this space.
YOU ARE READING
Poetry For The Lost People
Poetry365 observations and comments about society, life and love throughout 2022. Come with me on my journey day by day, as I write what I've always wanted to say. There is no method or planning, just thoughts and perceptions about the way of the world. A...
