A SIGN OF THE TIMES
It's a sign of the times,That not even a rhythm.
Is coming to me.
It's that time,
In my life.
Not even the wife,
Listens to me.
Life is a bore,
I've thought this once more.
As Life comes crashing,
On me.
Don't shoot the messenger,
They say,
But when he comes my way.
He has nothing to say.
If immigrants come to our shores,
For a rapecation vacation.
Why can't we send them back home,
After castration.
Poetry by Alan J Ripley
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Written on 2026-08-24 at 02:30
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