There is a town by the name of Betuty.
Many do quite envy,
For it is what they cannot be:
A beacon upon a hill for all to see.
Colorful houses, none too plain.
Never even a drop of rain.
Yet all the harvests do go well,
As if under a spell.
I do not envy it.
It is a frightful place to be.
Its’ citizens dance around a fire
screeching and laughing as they go.
Many times there are echoing screams,
of people like me
when caught
lingering.
Watching.
I cannot seem to get enough.
The night is my cape
a bush my refuge.
A misstep.
A broken twig.
They notice.
She knows too much.
I run and run and run from this town named Betuty.
I promise myself to never come back.
I never leave.
Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 6:17 PM UTC
There is a town by the name of Betuty.
Many do quite envy,
For it is what they cannot be:
A beacon upon a hill for all to see.
Colorful houses, none too plain.
Never even a drop of rain.
Yet all the harvests do go well,
As if under a spell.
I do not envy it.
It is a frightful place to be.
Its’ citizens dance around a fire
screeching and laughing as they go.
Many times there are echoing screams,
of people like me
when caught
lingering.
Watching.
I cannot seem to get enough.
The night is my cape
a bush my refuge.
A misstep.
A broken twig.
They notice.
She knows too much.
I run and run and run from this town named Betuty.
I promise myself to never come back.
I never leave.
