It’s… by Daniel Theisen

I am not a silent poet

It’s just a street dance in a city of flames
It’s the cries unheard from forgotten names
It’s the sounds of hunger devouring the living
It’s desperate hands taking
When none are shaking or giving
Its tattered clothes Over worn out shoes
It’s the face of cold anger when you put away the blues
It’s broken children on filthy floors
It’s missing fathers and working whores
It’s what all politicians Claim to see
It’s a short story Buried on page 13D
It’s an endless cycle of bad schools and worst jails
Its Drunks and Junkies Sick tired and pale
It’s good medicine denied the poor in distress
It’s the free ride of the rich Billing charities for their dress
It’s gunmen and woman alone or in groups
It’s bullets being shot Instead of hoops
It’s dirty water that cost a small fine
It’s road kill dinners Eaten privately beneath the…

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