Poetry of the Cold Summer

[Snicklefritz]

Hello. I often have random spouts of creative thought that allows me to write the occasional poetic story or two. I suppose, when I come across those that are good enough to be enjoyed by others, I shall post them here. Now, these are nothing special, but merely thoughts from a fellow 420er


This one's called A Message To The Orchestrator


These streets,
Were paved with gold,
Each mile,
Has now been sold.
These girls,
Once a delicate lot,
Have become,
The fallen angelic rot.

Those who danced with God himself,
Are now amative in affliction.
A message to the Orchestrator,
We all pace ourselves with your fiction.
Hold,
Voices low.

Those skirts,
Symbolic in our habiliment,
Soaked in dirt,
An off kilter establishment.
Two nights,
Standing against the firmament,
One light,
A beacon of the armament.

Those who danced with God herself,
Are now amative in affliction.
A message to the Orchestrator,
We all lust after your patience.
Hold,
Keep our voices low.
Not a single tone.