Child in time

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
Dirty, old town.

Submitted: January 22, 2012

A A A | A A A

Submitted: January 22, 2012




Cigarette butts, tossed

by long lost people,

rest within the sewers,

beneath the city streets.


I see their different haircuts,

jewelry and style.

I see them flushed

by the heavy finger of time.


Their ghosts walk around,

businessmen, artists, or be it a child.

All chewed up and swallowed

by the cruel arms of time.


It doesn’t care whether you’re young or poor

It doesn’t regret taking your soul.


Only once the tree is cut down,

can the big, fat circles tell,

how quickly its age went by

and how much time passed before it fell.


My wallet filled with nothing but respect,

nothing but respect for the ghosts of the past.

I wake up colliding head on with the crowd,

only to watch as my letters fall down.


I get on my knees,

shouting ‘help!’

I grab my words desperately

as they start to melt,

the water that flows between my legs

drags them down the manhole gap.

I stick my arm into its foul mouth,

I feel the filthy cigarette butts,

and as I pull my arm, empty and lonely,

we end in the beginning of this story.

© Copyright 2020 Tomnick. All rights reserved.

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