This Small Town

An attempt at prose poetry.

It's a small town with big hopes. Rusty dirt blanketed like rubble covering the ground. Fairy floss skies give off a colour that is inimitable, transforming, weaving into a transparent oblivion that sparkles like shattered glass, igniting a hope into the minds of the naive.

It's a guilty town with unrelenting hope. Telling a story through the hills that guide the weathered home, begging to not be abandoned, begging for forgiveness, weighing down on the dwellers like the lead that encompasses whilst echoing the naive thoughts that were once what kept the living alive. 

It's an empty town with lost hope. Hollow shop fronts haunt the space, taunting the aged with reflections of what could have been. Naive no more, the hills, skies and their eyes tell the stories of the golden years, slowly becoming forgotten whilst fading into the transparent oblivion, dissolving the flickering sparks of hope in which it is no longer.