Get Your Premium Membership

The Elite

At the front row gain a flag off, as compared to them in the back. So the life underdogged, starting by the rulers. Zig zagging through a bulk of them, maneuvered without wings. I’m gonna bonk at 15 miles. So life is bonked, trying suck all of the drops. Gotta slow down as life rotes. The pace slaps in head, hallucinate the finish line. As life dreams of the dead, when the gold is ironed.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2022




Post Comments

Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.

Please Login to post a comment

A comment has not been posted for this poem. Encourage a poet by being the first to comment.


Book: Shattered Sighs