Jan 152012

by Amber Rothrock

The streets –
desolate, abandon.
The well-mannered raucous
from the bars
echoes through the dark.
Few wanderers
still roam.
They’ve forgotten
what they’re looking for.
Led by
the hunger,
their starving ambitions,
insatiable desires.
Nomadic hearts
can never rest.
It’s in their nature
to never be satisfied.
For what they dine
is artificial.

  One Response to “Artificial”

  1. A fun bar in New York- yeah that hunger though, maybe another poem another time.

    – Patrick