Fragments from the Streets

Standing, shivering in the cold
I wonder,
does her soul shiver too
as she steps into
a car
with a man she does not know.

The dark blanket of the night
does not hide the dirt, the weariness
it is illuminated in the dull
glow of neon

The streets are old and tired
scattered about lie the
worn out husks of automobiles
and people
even the police cars look tired
and oppressed

The people,
weary and bitter
hold in a variety of emotions
from despair
to anger, hate, and fear.
They live surrounded in Chaos
and struggle
to survive.

The night, the streets,
the lights
all bring them out
how much worse are
their homes
that they choose
to come here

The legless beggar
looks up at me
and smiles
"have a good day and a good night.
"and tomorrow,
"have a better day, and a better night."

The lost souls
about the concrete canyons
hunting and pecking
for whatever sustenance
they need.
the people starve and wither
while about them
Pigeons thrive
For this it the land
where the pigeons rule.

Those who live and thrive
tear through the
Sad streets
in their fancy cars, their motorbikes
reminding the denizens
That there is
a richer world.
And they are
locked within
the great walls of

The hustlers shuffle
about their business
a smile when it
helps them
A friendly mask
they wear
in hopes that
shall grace their palms.

On the corners
are the ladies of the night
auctioning themselves
on an inglorious block.
Well displayed
are their wares
as they smile
at the drivers
Is your name

Amidst the dark
and the despair
the filth and the decadence.
Are those that wear
their dignity
like a cloak of many colors
they shroud themselves
and hold their heads up high

The people stand about
for they have no where to go
they wear the shackles of poverty
and it holds them where
they stand.
Daily, before their eyes
the world outside
taunts them with
what they have not.

The woman in the white tight pants
leaves little to the imagination
She stands her vigil
and curses, silently
each passing car.
I turn for a moment
and she is gone.

The men yell, defensive
at the officers of the law
their protestations are all the same
"I wasn't doing anything"
The police have been
too long
their hearts have grown stone.

The pieces lie shattered
all about the soiled stone
each shattered bit
of life and hope
has a story all their own
like the pieces of the bottle
smashed forgotten
on the ground
each fits into the puzzle
of the streets
of sadness, sorrow.

The sorrow fills me slowly
slipping past the
steel of my heart
there is naught that I can do
but slip away
into the dark
Once gone
I see what's missing
the hope, the love,
the joy,
the sparks that light
our souls
for in the streets down
far below
that light it has been lost.
There is but one exception
and that seen only in the day.
The light shines bright
in the children's eyes
for how long
we can only guess.
For soon the walls
like the darkness
shall snuff out
that light as well.

These are fragments,
found lying amidst
the streets.