poem about this work of art, this obviously inspiring telling masterpiece
that speaks for an entire age that keeps recurring like a dream, no,
Concrete, blood, punk, trash-
Icons from a new age bash
Synthetic fiber molten key
Stuck in the wall
For all to see.
Caution- burnt words hanging here
Recite them and you’ll slowly die
Chains, bags, dead poet's tapes
Holding decades of magnetic lies.
Gray, white, yellow, red
Colors of the new unborn dead
And finally mashed metallica
Retrieved from a burned out bygone city.
Like those who came before them
The new wave splats the mess together
Then they look at it in abject wonder-
As it reflects their young live's stormy weathers.
“We were here” it loudly screams
Two messed up lives are in it,
From start to finish a bunch of crap.
Aw shit. I see us in it.