Nowhere
strange things
these weeds
swinging eerily
in the forgotten breeze
the moaning moon
curses them savage eyes
everywhere there is
vacancy
acceptance
and night is a *****
full of the disposessed
with their fility lies
so hold on tight
when the spiders
come out to play
in the morning
the dust refuses to settle
and they laugh
with a bellyfull of lies
all you can do
is praise the glorious sun
tie your laces
and don’t give a damn
Copyright © Paul Martin | Year Posted 2014
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