Waitresses are the only people
Who are nice to the uncongenial
You know the ones
From the city slums
These a-holes think they're so superior
Once the house was with high-spirits and ebullient
Playing, dining and all things were done together.
Grandpa used to advise and mentor every one.
No aloofness, filled with a congenial weather.
As time passed families too changed gradually
Limited people with their unlimited wants
Confining to their private rooms locked from inside
Stick to their gadget screens, without any response
No sharing, no chatting, no roaring of laughter
Sullen silence pervades in the closed apartments.
Teens indifferent to parents and vice versa
Concealing their failures as well as achievements
Those uncongenial things torment the wise old man.
The kindred can never perceive his emotions
And ignore them as silly and meaningless thoughts.
Will they ever feel the decay of relations?
Writing Challenge - Decay - Poetry Contest
Quatrain poetry form only.
Sponsored by: Constance La France
Date: 24/09/2020
Waitresses are the only people
Who are nice to the uncongenial
You know the ones
From the city slums
Who think they're extremely superior
Dollars don't grow on trees
Spilling secrets saving scenes
Faltering for all the world to see
Uncongenial uncontrollability
sucking life right out of me
Where do simple answers lay
brooding stables they can stay
jumping hurdles as I pray
pressing for another day
feeling sun gods golden ray
pretentious prohibition
losing hope and inhibition
fame costing an exhibition
slowly caught attrition
lost is the attraction
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