Going To Hell In a Hand-Basket
He found me in a dream serene,
then I found her in a stupor.
LATE! I realized for the first scene,
ineffective tense tired tutor.
Wampanoag's dismay on fierce face,
on her’s pale, nothing but despair.
Knew I was doomed in any case,
me; I wish I could disappear…
My wardrobe gray, black and a frown,
I walk with slouch instead of proud.
Place spiraling on its way down,
my soul's lost in this crazy crowd.
Immature arrogant revolt,
devoted defenders hold line.
They “got things figured out” — but don’t..,
mayhem for fun’s sake a past time.
Hellions running wild the prison,
bitterness taste - lemon pucker.
Hierarchy ears deaf, won’t listen,
moment of truth taste for sucker.
It’s a sorry state of affairs,
a sad society we live.
We won’t survive if unawares,
civility bleeding through sieve.
Susan Ashley
August 31, 2017
*Poet's note: this poem was based on a dream I woke up with this morning*
Copyright © Susan Ashley | Year Posted 2017
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