Strange Times
By Louise178
Mon, 21 Sep 2020
- 1059 reads
4 comments
The freedom of the birds
and the whispy
summer clouds
are what we dream of now
Spring was quietly stolen
our liberties curtailed
homes were a prison
opened once a day
Summer was here
up and down, the voices
riled, they ruled, what to do
they stomped, they trod
now our summer's dead
Autumn leaves fall again
the cold winter looms
shops, liveliehoods
are falling too
New year, old life
all torn up for you.
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1 User voted this as great feedback
Some very affective lines in
Permalink Submitted by london_calling79 on
Some very affective lines in here. I loved the 'homes were a prison' part and your final line is built up to and crafted really well.
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1 User voted this as great feedback
Your poem speaks volumes. A
Permalink Submitted by skinner_jennifer on
Your poem speaks volumes. A year of so many changes.
Jenny.
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