Phil Roberts


I am 64 and loves cats, rock music, and horror fiction and poetry

In the land of the doomed
Where only sorrow grows,
The broken-hearted abound
All pleasure is now unknown.

All the lonely people
Subsisting in despair,
The hopeless are marooned here
Abandoned without care.

Lost and homeless descend
To live in this region,
A zone of empty promises
All quality of life is gone.

The helpless and morose
Cursed to walk this land,
Living off mouldy scraps
Whatever comes to hand.

Frightened, empty folk
Shuffle along the streets,
Wary of all movement
Afraid of all they meet.

Mired in broken dreams
Of when their life went well
Barely living, barren creatures
Trapped in this living Hell.

Caught in a land so awful
They can barely contemplate,
All their luck turned bad
Surrendering to their fate.

© Copyright 2021 Philip Roberts
Melbourne, Victoria, Australia