Poking holes in cages,
So that the trees can breathe.
To break the box that binds us
And drink sorrow brewed with leaves.
A solitary promenade,
Herded by fences grim,
Meanders through the afterlife;
The dead spill from the brim.
I drink and choke on tasteless smog
That clouds the essence of my soul:
My appetite is forgotten
And my mind grows dull.
Trespass
Written by
in Poetry
