JUNK – A POEM

Writing

I foraged a vision in these woods,

Below the mighty oak,

Cardboard steeples heaved and shook 

above the crumbling roads,

Tin cars drove by in their hoards

spitting poison from their pipes,

Silence severed, engines roared 

to prove the beast alive;

Skyscrapers of bottlenecks

thrust spears into the cloud,

Tides of oil broke and swept

with no-one there to drown,

Meadows capped with gold and greed

were swept with blood, I watched them bleed

a frightening flood of pain and grief

from the junkyard town;

Those flames would burn forever,

From the past until the now.

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