Suburbia Hell

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





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