yes.. you can still see through…

yes_you can still see through

almost
invisible
small drops
of
water
clinging
to the window
like
refugee children
clinging
to the hope
of
a new life
a life
after
surviving
such hardships
but
never expecting
to be
swept away
by
gang slavery
salvation
now
is indeed
a foreign
word

hiding place…

hiding placed

that small hole
in the wall
is where
i
place
my dreams
to
keep them
safe
from
those who
shade
the light
of hope
with
words
of despair
and
their
icy cold
stares
i
would
invite
you in
but
there is
no room
to
spare

change in agenda…

change in agenda

a young pastor
stopped by
aunt bea’s
while i was there
delivering
a few items
she needed
for dinner
with bible
in hand
he said
we all need
to pray
for
justice
peace
and
love
aunt bea
said
you know
we’ve been
praying
for those things
for years
perhaps
we should be
praying
for
someone
to
listen

sharecropper…

sharecropper

a father
who owns
no land
his children
are
his
only crops
to
feed
family
he’s borrowed money
from
shylock lenders
as
loan repayment
each
child
must surrender
the beauty
of their youth
as
the devil’s dues

when you’ve taken what you want…

when you've taken what you want

tell me
when will the laughter
begin
again
when
will
a child’s voice
sound
as pure
as
a parent’s love
when
will
we hear
the carefree caress
from a nighttime story
as
a child
is placed
in a warm bed
their
heartbeats
heard
above
the cries
for food

street art…

street art

she’s a gaffer
with
a cocaine blowpipe
her lampworkers
all
have different names
but
each
has
successfully
manipulated
her passions
with
such precision
that
another
glass child
has been
free-blown
from
her molten desires
layers
of
white glass
overlying
a black body
forming
a new sphere
to be
dipped
into
the white-hot pot
of society