"Unhome"

Forced, to the city I stumbled;

Economic desire fuelling my travels.

Out of gas, so it seems; yearning,

For the insatiable silence of home.

Too many are the unanswered squawks of all…

Merely hapless players, myself one, too

Wanting to be heard, to hear,

Being pushed to the proverbial door

Too much, is the droaning of the hungry streets…

Forever feeding on rubber, carbon monoxide, and

Well-intentioned, the road services,

With no possible ceasefire.

Author's Note

I'm not sure what to ask about. I just want to know what people think.