Hear
my city weep
Polluted
land has laid waste to its street as the people sleep
Colored
bandanas will gather up
Like
shards of broken rainbow
Inhaling
the fumes of green
While
coloring the concrete red
Yes
my city has turned into a death bed with headstone as pillows
On
the corner of last regret
A
homeless man will sleep after sniffing a kilo
And
a boy will take his last breath
Sadness
and despair the feelings of hatred in the air
My
soul is shackled to the city of shadow
Where
homes are vacant and joy is taken to a hopeless place
On
the edge of the dirty glove
Because
the words of prayer are snatched before they can reach our saviors.
This is a disturbing but compelling poem, Alixander. I believe there's hope for Detroit, but I know the poverty and decay are overwhelming. You illustrate that so well here.
ReplyDelete