Author - Jonathan Avis
Focus Poems... Real Stories
Copyright © Focus Poem 2015 | All Rights Reserved
The drug, allowing people to be smug,
doing anything they want.
No care for the people they meet
and the people which they beat.
They walk along a street which they believe has an end,
yet is circular, spherical, an endless loop filled with dread.
Picking up silver and gold,
making a path harder, heavier until you trip.
Unable to tie your shoes,
hidden by the useless treasures which made you fall.
As you lie on your face looking at the footprints you already tread,
you realise your street is just one big end.
Your future the tear which rolls down your face,
becoming hidden in the wealth as it rolls to the dirt,
fading as your mind has long been gone,
the body following and turning to dust.
The useless wealth now left in a place
for the next poor soul to try carry the weight,
digging his own grave as he treads the endless path of self-destruct,
once again returning to dust