@Incandenza I found those very interesting. Particularly the journey I can see over time. The Winnie the Pooh poememe made me chuckle first at the concept, then at the implementation. I applaud your increasing basedness.
@funwithshemales69 I'm glad you shared that. I'm also glad that despite its darkness, there's a defiance to it.
Here's another of mine:
The Bus
I pass round bottled water,
I comfort those who cry,
I smell the smoke grow thicker,
And I straighten up my tie.
I look down at the driver,
Who grips the wheel tight,
His noseless face stares dead ahead,
His finger bones are white.
We all have rattled at the door,
And battered at the glass,
But all of us watch helplessly,
As the wasteland hurtles past.
In my youth I grabbed those bony shoulders,
"You'll turn around I swore!"
Death, our steadfast driver,
Pressed his tarsals to the floor.
I could join the screaming passengers,
And some nights I scream too,
But mostly I hold their hands and ask,
Is there anything I can do?
We are a strange assembly,
Some are quite content,
They chat or read or watch TV,
And rarely do dissent.
Others rage and struggle,
And beg to take a different road,
We see the turnings clearly marked,
As they're ahead, then going, then go'ed.
Now in my middle years,
I've spent my life at breakneck speed,
I'm about ready for another go,
To perhaps this time succeed.
I see a few more between the seats,
Those who know but do not tell,
I count thirty-six who'll try to turn,
Around the bus to Hell.
