Have you seen them dangling, my child, in the middle of the night?
When all is not looking, when all is not speaking.
Dead as they were, filing by you, passing like a regiment, three-by-twos.
Have you heard them scream, my dear, an ultrasound of mess?
Its a wonder you’ve not felt, my dear, a flit of wind flew by.
We must’ve all been dead not to see, the beauties of our world.
A phantom as a ghost indeed,
But not so much it is.
For this phantom hails the roadside bush, as its sheltered home,
Fumes and dust for breathe, acid rain for drinks,
Life sustained by you who treads, on its head while rushing.
This is not a poem,
And this is not a prose,
This is just the daily ramblings of a fourteen-year-old.
I’m rather busy today and this is not a poem as I’ve said, gonna come up with one tonight (morning I mean, after midnight) cos I’m currently being barred from the com right now.
See you guys!