A Field Trip To Sin City
The cars screeching
The street lights flicker with every sensitive touch
Honks blasting in your ears
You cover them but the explosion is combustible
Wet footsteps tap the ground
Infected with pollution
Every Sinner’s paradise
Disease spreading succubus whores
The Vain who would die if their looks were damaged
Sloths who do nothing to help those in need
Gluttonous holders who can’t help either for those starving
The murders increase with flaming rage
Gamblers of Wall Street roam
Everyone who dreams, fascinates over a successful other
This is not home
Home should be where your heart is
My heart desires a quite country side
Everything falling from zeal and grace
No one will survive forever in this rotting gray pit
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THE GOODS
You're currently reading the poem
A Field Trip To Sin City, which
was posted on Feb 10, 2012 by
Lionsleeper.
This is a solo poem.
Some rights reserved.
This poem is filed under:
Abstract, Free Verse, Just for Fun
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