A poem about desolation; hopelessness. |
I’ve had a walk down Lonely Street A place where only losers dwell, A place that lovers never know But weary losers know too well. The endless breath of winter Seems to crawl along your spine, When you go down to Lonely Street The weather’s never fine. The place is dark and gloomy Black clouds fill up the sky, People live on Lonely Street But most go there to die. Thunder and lightning flashing As heavy rains begin to fall, From the shadows, you hear a voice Is this the Reaper’s call? The plight of the lonely loser So easily comes to light, When people stray down Lonely Street Their days have turned to night. For no-one but the hopeless Wander down to Lonely Street, No-one except the fallen For whom life is ever bleak. Lonely Street’s next door to Hell At least for abandoned souls, For whom the fire of life went out Their hearts have turned to coal. Lonely Street is for the lost For people who have no hope, For loners given up on life Who find they cannot cope. Lonely Street is the finish Of all your hopes and dreams, A place where silence reigns supreme Broken by sobbing screams. The summer sun never shines Not down that loathsome road, Nothing good ever comes to stay Within this foul abode. THE END © Copyright 2023 Philip Roberts Melbourne, Victoria, Australia |