Promises Unkept for Friend Tate

narrative verse in rhyming quatrains/ iambic tetrameter

 

Promises unkept

 

The back streets of the city hide

 a multitude of untold tales

The mean streets where the stench abides

of rancid dreams left to decay.

 

Far different from the countryside

 the green hills and the pleasant vales.

Where simple country folk reside.

Fresh dreams emerging every day.

 

The city street may well decide

 which man succeeds and which man fails.

The ebbing flowing surging tides

 of little men who have no say.

 

The city fathers try to hide

( but their efforts are bound to fail.)

the city’s seamy underside.

Where petty criminals hold sway.

 

Some folks escape by suicide

and others fill the city’s jail.

There’s poverty on every side.

It seems the problems here to stay.

 

Here ideologies collide

 But more is said than’s ever done.

The city has no cause for pride.

We’ve little choice but wait and pray.

 

 The city fathers say they’ve tried

but I beg leave to doubt their word.

I’m totally unsatisfied

There’s jam tomorrow none today.

 

17/08/2009

http:// blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers

Reviews

[Tate Morgan]

Well what can i say this receives a 100
Thanks Tate