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last child of the gang war

one tearful voice hears
and children
with their trapped running
on the stumbling stones
in the messengers of the closed doors,
it penetrates like locks
like ants in tiny places
like fruit flies in the plagued sun
mosquitos drawing blood
I sleep deep in the breathless night
their stingers discharge
the steel and spit of shrill sirens
slapping my ears like a baby waiting
to be born before it dies.




— Orphani, Jul 18, 2010

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Kailashana

Kailashana

15 years 10 months ago

Barry, thank you for this

Barry, thank you for this poem. To the Neopoet community: Barry met Kahlid, Director of PEACE IN THE HOOD - Dedicated to Peace, Justice and Empowerment at a panel discussion on the Middle East recently. Kahlid moderated the panel. http://www.peaceinthehood.com/Dot_AboutUs.asp Cleveland, unfortunately, is a model for urban American challenges such as racism, drugs, gang violence, police corruption, mis-education, and the absence of leadership. One must think globally and act locally.... Loving you, Anna "There is a kind of mysticism to writing." ~ Irvine Welsh
V

Vampyre

15 years 10 months ago

I can’t leave before I

I can't leave before I say.....I never understood most of your poetry.....I'm sure the fault lies in me......Blessed Be, Patrick