Weathered Wasteland

Over in the weathered wasteland.
Where angels fear to dwell.
Are understanding's no one can understand.
And you swear that you're in hell.

The mountains stand before you.
Too high to see beyond.
You can't find a way to get through.
And it feel's like you've been conned.

So as you stand there idle.
Too lost to turn around.
You build your golden idol.
And hope that you get found.

The world is slowly dieing.
And cost is out of hand.
So many have stopped trying.
In their own weathered wasteland.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2014

Poem

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Dietrich Avatar
April 8, 2014 at 6:50 PM
Robert. I came back to this one and realized something. Did you mean Wasteland? I am sure that is what it must be. Thanks for reading my poem today. It's always nice to see your comments.
Dietrich Avatar
March 25, 2014 at 4:30 PM
this has such an ominous tone. Very good, Robert. Sadly, very true.
Horne Avatar
March 23, 2014 at 2:22 PM
powerful write with such truth here,my friend
Johnson Avatar
March 23, 2014 at 7:06 PM
thank you jack
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