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this is not my town
I am an alien that moved in long ago I walk many streets where no one knows my first name nor last and never will they are not interested... I have become a ghost of sorts in the glaring daylight the aging get lost among the sightless youth worth is calculated in beauty and smoothness and in not being a nuisance or in the ability to blend in and amuse and be of some Utilitarian purpose warranty's do expire when you do not have the necessary appendages of grandchildren, children, extended family, a house, a career there's no reason to BE anymore when you take up valuable space which can easily be charged so much more for since you come so cheap (I don't know you and what has your generation done for me lately except burden and harden the system?) ah the days of my youth did once seem sweet but now seem to be tinged with remorse, a taint of bitterness did I know the value of all who passed the door of my heart I thought I did I thought every one had some measure of worth I'd have no more of this personal accounting business the devaluing of souls and the quick knee-jerk turn and sharp upturn of the nose attitudes Its time to dispose of you and you and you (the accusatory fingers of youth point) you are through ugh-repugnant you are an, an over-done potato. (chuck her on the trash heap of humanity) This Author Writer Has Legal Copyright for This Work/This SITE TITLE. Cannot be reproduced without her expressed permission. Melissa A Howells. Meloo/Straight from her Tilt-a-World timed stamped 9:38am October 23, 2016....All Rights Are Reserved. Youth is wasted solely on the youth and so is charity at times...it is meant to be spread around generationally for all. there are youth who are old souls. there are old souls that are perpetually youthful...forget your bone-headed dichotomized thinking...and open your eyes everyone has a purpose here. The universe is big and generous enough for all. Aha, perhaps it is not that the universe is un-generous, but that WE ARE. Vote for this poem |
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