The coffee’s dingy, like dusty concrete,
And the sun looks a little less yellow.
The soles of shoes feel a smidgen bit thinner,
And I sometimes feel just somewhat mellow.
In a thousand houses in distant places,
Open blinds show dingy faces.
I doubt they smile, considering that
They’re covered and coated in ten layers of dust.
There lived a tree across the Red Sea,
Its branches wide as masts,
And like one of the bourgeoisie,
It seemed just unsurpassed.
Though nothing resists a blazing flame,
As heat puts sand and flesh to shame,
No one saw that great tree fall,
But I saw the dust; I knew it all.
Now, I watch the scrambled pile,
And the wind feels somewhat gusty.
I wonder if trees are foul or vile,
To deserve such fates so dusty.
Sindi Zhou • Oct 20, 2023 at 9:58 pm
2nd greatest poem ever