At the Shady Inn
Thus we came and went
in the quaking dawn.
Puppets on a string
caught up in this game.
Reckon we will burn.
Bind my soul then.
My hands are soiled
dirty work done.
Yet it feels right.
I love you
sounds so trite
in this doom.
Back door.
Shade's drawn
at noon.
Fools.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
