The Streets

The streets clink with glass of broken dreams.

Dream clouds lay in the gutters, like wet tissue.

The city’s deserted, desolate.

Dark clouds crowd the sky, heaving big sighs.

People skitter and scuttle everywhere, like rats.

They hide from the blackness, the despair.

They want light, goodness, the hope.

These people want the darkness to disperse, to vanish.

The gloom surrounds them, envelopes them.

They cringe, they flinch, they run and hide.

They cry, they die, they hurt.

Nobody sees their dreams fly high.

The hate rain beats them down, never letting them float free.

The streets are so cold, so hate-filled.

The streets, the streets.