Dirty tiles
Upon the roofs
Of a street
Nearby
Litter in
The gutters
Swamped by
Buzzing flies.
The closed shop
On the corner
Where as a child
I played
The shutters
Rusted stiff
The place
A barricade.
The empty houses
Windows eyes
Now broken
Shattered glass
Front doors
A token.
Once peoples homes
Now long passed.
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Author:
nephilim56 (
Offline) - Published: July 30th, 2025 01:44
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 3
- Users favorite of this poem: Cheeky Missy
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