(Originally published by The Rye Whiskey Review)
hellish environment abound
as the heatwave intensifies
no relief for the camper of the street you say
at least vagabonds can find shade
laborers slave away
dying a little each second
the toil and grind
hacking away at their soul
leaving merely hours in a lifetime
for relaxation and enjoyment
no time to fully recharge
before the thrall resumes
while cold fingers point
and quenched throats command
Gloomy Forebodings 