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The loss of thought
These tarmac streets mean nothing to me,
When graffiti stains my newly bought shoes as I tread
Day after day along these roads,
Trying to find the treasures of my youth.
Those precious pennies long forgotten once slipped from my pockets
And becoming buried by dust, pollution of creation.
Of time and technology.
Each new vehicle chugs happily over the bumpy ground,
As I trudge and stumble tiredly, hitting my heels and toes,
Bruising all I have left of my confidence.
Scuffing the stones from under my aching feet, still searching desperately
For petit losses.
I sigh and march on, now longing for fields.
