Oil drips like bloodstreams,
pumps cough out what we can't hold—
the meter spins up.
Coffee's not enough,
lines stretch beyond the sunrise.
Empty wallets weep.
Over there, they die.
Here, we pay another price.
Both feel the same sting.
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Author:
gray0328 (
Offline) - Published: April 18th, 2026 03:40
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 3
Offline)
Comments1
I here the commentary in this poem on war be it physical, commercial, social. We all pay a price. Nicely done Gray
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