A meal of brick and cinder blocks
hands turn wheels
pull levers
Break stone into rocks
Move shovels and plunge stakes
grind fates
force hard gambles
tattered hands never realize truth
dreams turn slowly to shambles
Bones earn wages unpaid
Dreams turn brittle
in the shade of bank towers
hands grasping desperate handles
pull blades, draw knives, lock hammers,
scrape snow across glass, light pipes and scatter
The curtain drawn shut
the mind
weighed down by chains and locks
where can hope put roots on
brick and cinder blocks
trodden wearily but not down
feed your mind not the gun
not the pipe
not the hate
the way out is forward and it’s never too late.
No comments:
Post a Comment