Suburbia Hell
At the inconvenience store
On the corner
Of total darkness
And the great abyss
In… Suburbia Hell
Everything and anything is for sale
Even souls are bought and sold
Of both young and old
Like dime store trinkets
By those trained… To smell fear
Of those told
Not to think
In… The urban thunder
In… The storm of… Just survive
Yet every sunrise
With glazed eyes
They order a double
Prefabricated dose of the same
Without change
Claiming bliss… Is at their finger tips
In the gray stench
Of another day
Just like the last day
Of clock ticks… Of un-kissed lips
Fighting to stay alive
Ready to miss another perfect sunrise
Sleeping in a misguided dream
As voices inside scream
To be shown a sign
Whispers From The Cemetery
Poetry Without Rules
© Paul H. Keeler… A Cosmic Cowboy
