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The City of Swill

by Dark One 

Posted: 22 July 2003
Word Count: 187
Summary: A bit experimental again


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The City of Swill



A stinking hive, a festering dive
That some people referred to as home
Built by the poor for the poorer to fill
This was the city of swill
Breathe in the fresh toxins
Choke on the suffocating fumes
Shut out the cold air
And hide away in your rooms
This was the city of swill
Lifestyle kept to a drill
To avoid the rotten corpses
That littered the unkempt streets
And poisoned the sickening atmosphere
Disease and death are your best friends
And your health here is a daily fear
This was the city swill
Required to take your friendly pill
To keep up morale and cover all wounds
Pretend that you’re living in a paradise
Though soon bulldozers came
And with laughable shame
Turned the city of swill
Into a profitable landfill
Many years later when all was forgotten
About the city that was rotten and bury beneath the dirt
They built on the site another memorable might
Of numerous palaces and mansions galore
The city of swill
Was now all but a hill
For the rich to gawk at the poor






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Comments by other Members



Shadowgirl at 14:03 on 22 July 2003  Report this post
I'll get to you with some thoughts on this one, but I wanted you to have my initial from the gut reaction to this, the first time I read it through. I am crying.....I had been sitting here, not particularly thinking of anything much, and as I read your words, from nowhere the tears started pouring down my cheeks! I can't yet analyse why - but I will - but I wanted you to know how very VERY VERY much it moved me.

Than you so much for touching my heart like this.

Carole

ps...I know this may sound silly, forgive me if so - but I wanted you to know the REAL HONEST efect your poetry had on me today!

poemsgalore at 19:09 on 22 July 2003  Report this post
This makes me think of the South American countries where children live on rubbish dumps, trying to make a living -trying to survive and failing, sleeping in sewers. They hope the rich will buy the things they find on the dumps. The rich of course (as in your marvellous poem) sit on a hill looking down on the poor - but ignore them as much as they can.


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