The Vintage Conurbation
Crumbling hidden bridges:
Soaring over ivy streams
With boats of cigarette Packets and canopy of darkened leaves.
Rusting swing sets:
Living in overgrown parks
With weeds sprouting from
Smokey pavement cracks.
The Vintage Conurbation:
Half asleep.
Ancient church spire:
Rising from grand golden
Houses bathed in sinking
Sunlight from the rippling Water.
Antique clock tower:
Home to market stalls and Smoking Godless teens with Nirvana logos on their bags.
The Vintage Conurbation:
Half alive.
Grungy dirt houses:
Past their shining prime,
Standing in gangs and
Leaking smog and smoke from shattered windows.
Gleaming silver waters:
Dominating the suburbia,
Since the beginning of time.
They saw the Gods before
They gave birth to the Godless.
The Vintage Conurbation:
Half dead.
YOU ARE READING
SUBURBIA
Poetry❝Welcome to the godless suburbia we call home❞ • poetry inspired by the corrupt suburbs and cities of the world.
