LOST GHOSTS

Crouching, piercing gazes search into dim souls armored with shells thickened by seasons
With tactless grins spreading to affirm smiles, diced souls move predictably to place.

Treated like slaves, sat on like donkeys, asses grind in the heat of the day!
Groped to the core, teeth gnash helplessly at flaming body heights.

Shot back to reality from astral worlds of freedom, daunting looks fume on every side.
Hoping for a sun that never sets, thoughts linger in mid air.

Life is but a round pizza in a square box, in the 'Furnace of Hell'.
In the end, you think of the beginning!


Written by: Daphne Addison and Derek Boateng.