Why am I here?
Sat in this wretched cesspit,
That people call a city,
Craving the warm sun,
Over gun metal gray sky scrapers,
When can I leave?
This awful smog filled air,
And choked stench-filled water,
Longing for a bird to sing,
Instead of pick at road kill,
Where could I go?
Somewhere green and placid,
Where I can smell fresh grass,
Not backed up sewers and rot,
But clippings of natures gifts,
What can I do?
Stuck in this rut of putrid mass,
Body yearning to pick wild flower,
Not see wilting weeds,
Poking through cracked concrete,
Who am I?
But one single speck of sand,
In a universal hour glass,
A multitude of questions,
Just begging for an answer.
Author notes
L i m e W a t e r
This piece kinda wrote itself after I read the prompt, so I hope it's alright.
A contest entry
- Eating Below My Skin by micaelalseth.
650 points, ended October 30, 19 entries
Honorable mention
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Any good?
Comments
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actually I really, really love it. The end stanza is beautiful... I love the idea of a universal hour glass. Great job!
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Aww, thanks :-). Like I said, I wrote it based on my thoughts after the prompt, which I guess is the entire point, but usually it takes a while, this just wrote itself. And I think it's one of the better things I written of late...
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