Treasure Island

Is It Poetry

(1958 - / Bus-Boys And Poets, Washington D.C.)

Despair A Song Of


Losers in a row about to die
corks that pop from the other side.
People have come from all over
the country just to watch them cry.
Haughty looks aristocrats
pulled from homes that are now forfeit.
Children that can't be saved.
Better thee than me a father says.
Walk me home I hear one mother.
Dancing in the streets unpaved.
Distant future from the past in the dawn I hide.
Rhyme or reason treasonous tounge
from the land scape and you can never see.
Unrelated events that came together here.
No warning came to they.
Corks that pop as guns go off and oddly
from the corner of my eye.
I see the rest of them come from the forest
their on fire.

Submitted: Monday, July 29, 2013
Edited: Friday, August 09, 2013

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