Dying Dreams
City lights lure souls streaming by,
giving steel and brick a fresh face.
For only the young can supply
the mortar that holds dreams in place.
Busy roads form a maze of streets,
where winos claim the parks as theirs.
And panhandling when day retreats,
beggars ignore folk's angry stares.
Odors of life pollute the air,
as a chemical sun sets low.
And we share burdens all must bear,
trapped under a smog's eerie glow.
Shadow girls hustle day and night,
selling pleasures of every type.
And meant to whet your appetite,
barmaids accentuate the hype.
Ground by the pressure to achieve,
innocence gets tangled in sin.
And dying dreams draw the naïve,
eager for their chance to begin.
Copyright © Emile Pinet | Year Posted 2015
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