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Sorry you got horny
And slept with a drunk
Found out you were fertile
Despite what you thunk
Now you can't find him
But he hasn't gone far
If you're willing to look
He'll be at the bar
Hiding from you
And from his pain
No point in hounding him
There's nothing to gain
Glad it's all over
Now life can go on
Same as it always was
Just with innocence gone
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He goes to work to earn a crust, he's covered head to toe in dust
He works so hard he truly thinks, he's earned that cold
The Black Death
Fire, fire in the hole!
Thirty more bite the dust
Their last breath of carbon and coal.
How many times must the
Prosperity's body, wings and soul had grown weak.
Shimmering white feathers had turned blackish-grey.
The broken old man
Do you hear me crying
In the room right next to you
This illness is slowly killing me
And I can see my tomb
Do you hear me praying
That
by Melva Athans
Fragile State
Down the path of a dusty lane way
A man sits floored, skin creased and lame
Crevices etched into his leathered
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Poetry: Hard times
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