Grace @ Everyday Amazing
The old city burns
All through the day and night
From weight of roads – paved with asphalt, sin-tarred,
Trapped-silt from black tires pressing at every turn.
Inhale the heat and fumes.
Exhale the lake’s leftovers.
Under the haloed street lights
Buildings squat like sumo wrestlers
Around the manicured garden, littered with plastic cups
Stained of coffee. Your
fear tinders like Last Rites.
To be squished like cigarette butts. To be forgotten like a leaf.
Posted for Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Talking about the Hard Stuff - in 75 words
and D'verse Poets Pub - Form for All - Weave by David James
