by Dusty Grein

yellowed bits of paper
blown along by sour winds
whistling through empty swings
dying of cancerous rust

echoed laughter
oft repeated
behind the silence
fills my memories

in the hazy distance
another building falls like cards
reminding me there’s
no one else to hear it

is much worse than
the death I imagine every day
so why do I keep fighting

am I a coward
or am I merely
the last romantic
that will ever be?

© 2016 Dusty Grein


Dusty Grein is the Director of Production and Design and a Managing Editor for RhetAskew Publishing. He is also a novelist, ACP accredited poet, and regular writer for the Society of Classical Poets website. Some of his favorite messages can also be found on his personal blog, From Grandpa’s Heart…

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