room with a view

I climbed the ratline, to take in the view.

dropping crumbs on the fore deck, off you flew.

Off in the distance, a rocky shore,

seemed familiar, seemed as if,id seen it before.

I was fresh from a French prison, so probably not.

AS we got closer to the big apple, we saw its rot.

No natives in this place, it was only thieves.

scrounging for treasure, among st the fallen leaves.

Seemed to be no government, no police,

Just these scavengers, here waiting to fleece.

I had a memory, from long ago,

Another ship landing, on this same shore.

A land that was fresh, and smelled of flowers,

the brown natives trading ,their bright textiles.

I couldn't tell you what happened, I mumbled under my breath,

but it had died recently, an ugly death.

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

So many strong statements in the poetry my friend.
"No natives in this place, it was only thieves.
scrounging for treasure, among st the fallen leaves."
The above lines. A ugly view we can find. Thank you D. Mansfield for sharing the amazing poetry.
Coyote

[D. Mansfield]

thank you so much for reading this and taking the time to review

[jacob erin-cilberto]

reminds me of what we did to the Native Americans....pushed them aside and built our own cities with wealth and greed and sooner or later, the rot.
Making it just as bad as that prison.
j.

[D. Mansfield]

thank you Jacob I appreciate you reading this