City Limits
By Liam Elliott
The sky looks like an old painting
Done by a forgotten artist of sorts;
Maybe a Van Gogh or a Picasso
Before the schizophrenia set in.
And beneath the picturesque sky
Is a little village made out of plasticine
Built by a meticulous five year old
With no friends—
Except the inhabitants of the small village
Always smiling at him unlike his parents
Who’s faces droop towards the ground
Like old dogs waiting for their master to die
So they can urinate on the floor and eat shoes
Unfettered from angry feet kicking their bellies.
This is the world we all want to live in
But will not take steps to build.
© 2007 Liam Elliott. All RIghts Reserved.
3 comments:
I'm starting to notice themes in your writing. Nothing I've read of yours goes in the direction I'm expecting it to, i really like it. Do you plan it that way or does it sort of happen as it comes?
Are the pictures up yet or am I not looking hard enough?
Thanks David. Well, I do not sit and think about a poem which will fool you but I do enjoy putting tiwsts at the end of my works.
As for the photography, I am going to put a few up tonight.
~Peace.
Hi BABY. i had an amazing time tonight. you are great!
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