Sunday, September 18, 2011

Sometimes I hate the city

Sometimes I hate the city,

With grey concrete building and black tar road,

Countless faces I will never know,

Only the synthesized voice accompanying the road home.

Lying down in the field when I was young,

The wind hugs me welcome,

Sounds of water gossips about the intruder,

Grasses bend down to carry me,

As i fall asleep listening to birds chatter.

Now all I have is a sweaty steel chair,

nonsensical noise from strangers,

and a mechanical mouth that keeps

blowing cold stale air on my face.

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