Life is a Chasm
Of pots,
And pans.
Squalor
Squalor
Said they
In the sands
And then turned
The clocks
And then shook
The chimes.
Life is a chasm
So it said
in the rhymes
squalor squalor
Made the squawks
Against the wind
And so did
the squeaking
and the
squishing
of the aging webs of mallard ducks
between the dirt and dust
of old algae's bed
true squalor!
Across the land
Filth of natural sorts
A foul, intrinsic cleanse
That slouched and sloshed
And shimmied and swayed
down gold encrusted riverbeds
And white shaved teeth of rich white men
What squalor!
What squalor!
It must have been
To never know
A chasmic life
To never fear
Some consequence
To have lived for
tomorrow
To have never feared
The End.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem