Some moments were chances
and they’ll take them all
sometimes they’d be lucky
but mostly they’d fall
and cling onto life
by the strings of their hearts
their fingernails ripping
to reach a new start
the girls from the street
would bring comfort as friends
a softness denying
the hardness within
so they would struggle
and scrape out the day
like the funeral burners
that turned them to clay
each morning starting
like others they knew
the leeches of many
the kindness of few
the cold broken pavements
and squaller filled homes
with hopes that are trampled
and broken like bones
dead dogs in the dustbin
and rats in the bed
with dreams that they lost
when they’d lay down their heads
the late evenings haunted
by horns from the ships
departing the docks
for some exotic trip
that took coal to the nations
and oil to the shore
hammered out by the miners
to feed the the rich whores
in the banks and the churches
that made the poor pay
for their day of redemption
by docking their pay
with their taxes and judgements
to keep them in want
as consumers it’s better
to tell them they can’t
bring a cup that is empty
expecting their fill
to be taken from ours
without paying the bill
darkness falls on the eyelids
of those who are tired
so they won’t see the light
when their stuck in the mire
of the everyday living
that boulders and greets
the struggling many
of mean city streets.
Mean City Streets.
Did you enjoy the the artible “Mean City Streets.” from Charles M Moore on OZOFE.COM? Do you know anyone who could enjoy it as much as you do? If so, don't hesitate to share this post to them and your other beloved ones.
Leave a Reply