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Angels

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Down past the

vacant mill

where the raillines

run crazy wild.

Where the willow tree

refuse to bloom

and the wind's 

an orphan child.

All shards of glass

and rusting steel,

the world hanging

by a thread.

One more place

where angels

dare not tread.

 

Three days past

your last paycheck.

Your broke 

and lost again.

There's not enough

to pay the rent.

Just enough for 

one more gin.

Go back to the hovel

you call home

where you lay 

your aching head.

Another place

where angels

dare not tread.

 

How did it get so far out of line?

When did you stop living

and start dying?

 

Your mother

once called you

a treasure

of the earth.

But now she's gone,

you don't remember

half of what

you're worth.

No one cares 

how hard you've tried

or knows how 

much you've bled

in this place

where angels

dare not tread.

 

 

Comments (3)

This comment was minimized by the moderator on the site

Congradulations, It is apparent in this poem that you feel of what you speak, the words are like hot ingots of steel melting threw the ice cream bucket. I love the "REAL FEELINGS" found here, found in you, found on the ground where the best words...

Congradulations, It is apparent in this poem that you feel of what you speak, the words are like hot ingots of steel melting threw the ice cream bucket. I love the "REAL FEELINGS" found here, found in you, found on the ground where the best words grow. Ugwerks...Thanks.

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Vangoman
This comment was minimized by the moderator on the site

NICE

NATURAL
This comment was minimized by the moderator on the site

Thank you Vman. You are always so very kind and supportive. I think it's still a little rough. You've encouraged me to work on it a bit more. Thanks. And thanks to Natural as well. U

ugwerks
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