When Crops Wither
In a field of dreams
You
Are the deadliest catch
You
Are the lost village
A lethal woodstock
Whisper secrets
And everything after
Is born too loud.
No dash of love
For your modern family
Only forensic files
Floating in the shark tank.
Just another ride.
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.
