Fugee March

I but once young now rancid
trudging in the winter cold

a nowhere man bearing nothing
but a broken back and bare skin

for there is no one but I alone
caught in a world of mad men

certain to death and misery
certain to die in the muck

marching to a march
that never ends

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

w

Connecting to %s