Years fly by, propelled into the future,
Unversed readers find paper incisions.
For now seems only a tidy suture,
Reveals the evil of televisions.
Solitary sashays, now forbidden,
Gloomy houses flank the deserted path.
Android police, take heed hunched and hidden,
Peek out from layers of plaster and lath.
Perpetual twilight envelops the scribe,
In reminiscing some forlorn zeitgeist.
Locked up and can't break free, cannot describe,
Wherefore is it deserved such jaundiced heist?
Thy bleak age, hark, humdrum humanity,
Therein lies no fix for fraternity.
you seem to speak a different dialect of P.L. than mine.
ReplyDeleteI enjoyed your poem: effective use of diction and I particularly enjoyed the alliterative lines.
P.L.? What does that mean?
ReplyDeleteThank you for commenting, my blog's not so devoid of people now. Then again, your delicious looking display pictures make me hungry.