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In, an anaemic, ashen, Midlands’ city.

Iron skies, are filled, with;
grey buildings, grey faces, grey office(r)s.

Bluely lit.

Grey tarmacadam, is, trampled,
by, restricted, infantile strides. Chased,
by, those porcine protractors,
with truncheons.

Peel-ing away, at, schoolchildren’s,
stunted development. Stunned, flinching youth, is;
tasered, arrested, killed – inside.

On a street, called; Sorrow
Road…

…short-lived, and, long-gone,
stroll, hand-in-hand; synonymous.

None, are reimbursed, for, their fugitive time invested. Except, Charon.
His payment; a poor man’s shilling,
atop, each eyelid.

Wreaths of lies, are laid,
on, a graveside curb of pity.

Enthusiastically.

Alongside, the strewn, bygone,
neglected:
wishes, dreams, and, promises…

…of, a, faux delighted,
blue skied, rosy nighted; tomorrow.

Which, became,
our; missed, and, leaden today.

Our; misled, kidnapped, unquickening fate.

Our; hopeless, picketed, shade of Pale, beyond.

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