Cracked
With violent, static desire—
On selfsame streets spineless apparitions lean,
With scorched ambition, static in their breath;
ill-natured niminy-piminy views—
Blood maps the turf no innocence is seen,
Yet dawn’s promise, dares to mock their death.
selfsame streets—mean, spineless—
Split tongues recite the lies they’ve come to know,
Twisted pledges of kinship falsely sung;
Loud—false proud, our fury cries louder—
Death courts their steps, yet light they’ll never show,
Fear’s heavy cloak upon each heart is hung.
Defined weak in mind—those small in size—
Beneath the bravado, grief has carved its sigh,
Ill-natured verdicts penned in whispered queues;
Shame, gang names—in the eyes of—
The fury trembles ‘neath a storm-lit sky,
Where every bruise recalls the path they choose.
split in tongue, wrong—autonomy—
Object of shame, each gang proclaims its name,
Weak in resolve, they don false colors bold;
In rags, false brave—with a gun—
Shots pierce the night, no mercy in their aim,
Regret subsides where ruthless pride takes hold.
The dead fear the light—in a voiceless place—
Chains on their wrists belie their hollow claim,
Autonomy dwarfed in vigil’s eyes;
no might—twist-centric plea—
Division’s whispers fuel the burning flame,
While voiceless souls endure unheard cries.
In spite spoiled—No protection—
Cracked mirrors show the havoc they engage,
No refuge lies within their fleeting reign;
Feel regret— fervently in the attack—
In echoed panic, youth become the cage,
And brutal echoes bind the endless chain.
The rage beneath—division cracked—
Yet somewhere ‘mid the shards and shattered lies,
A glimmer stirs beyond their murky art;
restrained, chained, feigned, grief—
For those who dare to break the cycle’s ties
Can plant a spark that heals each fractured heart.
Mirrors cracked—