“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Saturday, November 17, 2018
interesting times
Would we know we have a problem
Despite what we are told
All is well
on its way,
Hell,
like the Universe
no place like
Home
when neighbors disappeared
and people en masse
abandoned former posts,
in hordes
Left
the right
to the pursuit of a
Life without fear
thy neighbor
of footsteps
of spies
and their subjects
and secrets and probing
We would notice,
wouldn't we?
When every person you see
is rich and powerful
who can afford not
to be infamous?
The poor
neighborhood turned over
and emptied
of change
never was
anymore
on any map
you see
there lies
Borders
between inside and out
them and us,
that and this
is not
Real
life...
Photo credit by Carol M. Highsmith [Public domain].
Photo description via Wikimedia:"An old jalopy outside an abandoned stone building in the "ghost town," some of which is still occupied and some of which consists of ruins of the Chisos quicksilver-mining company which operated from 1905 into the early 1940s, and the residences of those who worked there. Terlingua, Texas"
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