Dandelion Grave

Other cities,
other places.
With passing streets, all in rows,
with names that rhyme in my little prose.
Shadows fall on the sidewalks
in cities I should have been.
Cities that have always been.
But never there.
never where
they should be.

Houses all in a row
swallowed by the same grass.
Some cut shorter than others.
Some with stripes that say
“Look at my yard,
how happy and merry
we look today.”
But really only to say
the sloth next door
is not as good as I.
All that effort nigh,
for only to die.

And then what will the shadows say?
There lays he of pretty lawn.
A man of greenery –
but no dandelions.
Never a dandelion
in his world of stripes.
How masterful was he?

Well la dee dah….
You’ve spent your life in a world of
“who gives a fuck.”
Congratulations Stripe Man,
man of city I never knew.
Man of places
that were never really true.
and nobody cares
that your grave is covered
in dandelions.
.
.
© 2014 John Allen Richter

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About johnallenrichter

I am an aspiring Poet and adorer of life, a conqueror of nothing. However I am a champion curator of truth and friendship and hold both of those things most dearly to my heart. Welcome to my mind's eye. I hope you will enjoy what you may find and please know that you have a friend here. View all posts by johnallenrichter

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