Perfunctory At Best
No romance, just mating
Perfunctory at best,
No love, just procreating,
No need to line the nest.
No artistic self expression
Just a path from a to b,
A monosyllabic procession,
Mental catastrophe.
Constricted imagination
Creativity windblown,
A fallow field's stagnation
No seeds of beauty sown.
In single files our minds
March to a humdrum beat,
Originality left behind
Our dreams around our feet.
Entry for
If there was no poetry Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Silent One
21/1/2020.Placed =2nd.
Copyright © Gary Smith | Year Posted 2020
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