Dirge Poem by Naoimh Spence
Dirge
I hear it all,
The inner city song.
The droning dirge of decay;
Tires screech
Cars groan and roar
And grey ash waltzes on the air,
Lightning screams
On the void of night
The cold thrill of life here.
I walk on
With my hands in the
Pockets of my leather coat
And I step on
Dead grass and cracked stone
And all I can think of is that I
Really need to get out
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4/24/2024 7:11:36 PM # 1.0.0.1119
