Under This

By ralph

Sun, 22 Jul 2018
  • 233 reads
 
A dream.
They are stoning
me as I walk Westgate.
 
Friends, a lover
and the homeless man
I used to talk to.
 
I always said 
I understood them.
But all I wrote was poetry.
 
I board a train.
There are snakes. 
There are thugs.
 
All I wrote was poetry.
 
 
 
Certificate U
Poem
Miscellaneous