Manicured Poem by Peter Vealey

Manicured



Everything is manicured.
Perfect to the spot.
People look at you
Inquisitively as they pass,
As if you aren`t meant
To be here.
The royalty of dynasty of fearful years,
Of no interference.
The middle class invent
A prejudice of their own,
And consciences left to burn.

Friday, September 13, 2019
Topic(s) of this poem: perfection
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