Concrete, blood, punk, trash-
Icons from a new age bash
Synthetic fibered molten key
Stuck in the wall for all to see.
Caution- burnt words hanging here
Recite them and you’ll slowly die
Chains, bags, dead poet's tapes
Holding decades of magnetic lies.
Gray, white, yellow, red
Colors of the unborn turned
And finally mashed metallica
Retrieved from vagrant cities burned.
Like those who came on wings before them
This new wave splats the mess together
They look at it in abject wonder-
It reflects their young lives' stormy weather.
“We were here” it loudly screams
Two messed up lives are strewn in it;
From start to finish a bunch of crap,
and with that said, I see me in it...






And to be perfectly honest with you, I think it was a wonderful interpretation.. I like to see how differently people see things.
And permission granted.. I like how you inverted the colors and put it as a background too. Anywayz, great interpretation of the poem!
Not at all what we were thinking, but it really fits! I also like how you ripped at it, and then realized you were a part of it.
Well written and good luck!
1 old applause
