Preachers alter water to broken teeths
To salty milky food and a kicking feet
From four wheels to bruised knees
And laughter that echo through trees
From friends we would never meet
pleasure we try but really can't see
wooden work place, questions seek
in answers that lie in deep seas
Broken bottles burdens bundled
Breaking bits by bits by hurdles
hoarding hurting hope hisses
No one said growth can be like this.
Nice..
This is creative, but I am trying to get to direction of the poem.
Direction as how sir?
The plot of the poem.