Velvet thoughts are often glistening,
With the age of bronze, and the days of old.
While the peasants weep so the story goes,
Elegance and beauty perish with the world.
Simplistic smiles simper on the faces of the wealthy,
While the poor are rich with emotion.
Sad, depressed, small moments of elation.
There are answers better had than that of creation.
Yet let's turn back to velvet wings,
And watch our backs because these streets are cruel.
Trash can orchestras and a cold little boy,
He doesn't care that he's cold because he will soon die.
Love is lost on those lost too,
In the cracks of humanity, the streets below the palace.
Weeds in the tall green glass,
Sweat on the brow of a working man.
Author's Note: Been awhile since I've written any poetry so I thought I'd give it a try. Sorry if the formatting sucks, I just can't get Fictionpress to format right.. any suggestions? Please message me or if you review you can leave it there! Thanks!