The wounded children

[infectedmushroom]

Grown wounded children
Forever wandering streets.

Wandering,
Wandering
Wandering.

Wandering pale streets.

Grown wounded children,
Wandering pale streets

Streets now broken and grey
With down-trodden footsteps
Lost in time.

 

[Z3R0S]

trippy

 

[Horton-Scorton]

The first that came to mind was me plucking a turnip from the ground and it screams. I don't know why.

The second thing is the base mentality of the addict...and the union of all addicts in their lost limping search for a mirage.

Then I thought of a native American shaman looking into a white cowboys coffee and running his fingers through the smoke and ripples...seeing this vision. I imagine the cowboy asking what he sees...I can hear him reply grown wounded children. I can see him seeing mescalito dancing around gaunt dying trees. Children of mother earth...tears from a canopy.

Then I think of the back brain unconscious drives...the wandering children that though buried and obscured nevertheless wander forever...obliquely cross paths and suggest facelessly on the deepest pit of memory lane, back in time to the reptilian origins. Young and old at once.

 

[infectedmushroom]

Thank you greatly Horton for your ideas.

All of them are as valid as the others, however the second idea has hit the nail on the head.

I wrote this mainly with the idea of the addict and his endless path.

Both personal - and impersonal, from self-observation and the junkies I see everyday in the inner-city roaming the streets they have done so many times before.

I also particularly like the shaman image.

Again, thank you for your input.