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Poetry
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| What a Swell City | |
| By streetcarp | ||||
| 07 June 2006 | ||||
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This poem is a mess, but there are some nice lines in there that have future potential i think. Effectively this poem can be seen as a cities failed/failing struggle to drag it's self from the floor. Masked, ground in, through this swollen city Spying forgotten faces amidst warning remains The grit of trying, weathered in phase, lay's stumped Irrevocable, it peers out at night, camouflaged in the rains Lest it wake up the ever howling sky Entombed in stone, the anaesthetic of morning will bury all our desires Someone once felt we shouldn't borough In monochrome days where we dreamt Deciphered then, how so? It's clear at glance The recycled plans in protective sheaths Dormant laying in forgotten unison, Groomed for obscurity upon a contorted mantelpiece Disguised portraying a ready-mix empire Those faces swaying in the wind, are they tangible? Purpose chartered their effort, but if for some regret As if by number these swollen and seized mechanisms of ours seem far from blessed.
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