Journal of a Spaced-Out Brain -poetry-

Clocks

Clocks no longer tick
but they still keep time
Poets no longer write
using meter or rhyme
The young have fun
while their elders recline.
Friends get together
but not friends of mine.
There's no one here
left to reminisce.
No one wants a dog
if he smells like piss.
A life spent running
away from it all
can only be saved
if they happen to fall.

FOLDER

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