poor

Today inside I longed for the ride
Away from what corrupts with pesticide
This pain in which I seem to abide
Awake, the time when I can’t seem to hide
Swift is the air that rushes without care
Healing the stench of rot that’s everywhere
So fast the cure for vacancy of stare
While the signs of the times scream “beware”
The drive is long to which I strive
The dreamy wait for the time it will arrive
Swarming thoughts that seem to be alive
Asleep inside the heart of the beehive
The end ensues so swift to amend
The cure for hurt is surly to descend