Poetry: High-street traffic and expensive trash
Five words or a sentence for short
Sea salt, dirty clothes and a kettle
Tea boiling over the brim of a pot
Residues stuck to the bottom
Cars, passersby and street lights remain
High ceilings, lush carpets and brightly lit
There stands a mansion focally hit
Clicking heels heard every now and then
A lone child stands in the balcony
Few rain drops fall on a clear day
Shouts, wails, cries and guns
As panic strikes, a girl losing her shoe
Father letting go of daughter’s hand
A blast is heard, a shoe is found
A man gets a glimpse of his blood
Empty parking and deserted interior
Abandoned book resides in a thick cloth
A lone mike rests affront the carpets
A lone voice trembles inside, outside is
“Come towards prayer
Come towards victory”
Flash lights blinking, fairy lights dancing
Spot lights find the colorful audience
A crowd of thousands, the host is one
A melody booms out of the speakers
As more people pay, barricades are extended
Sticky floor, stale caffeine and dirty bars
Mental calamities exceeding boundaries
Electric shocks and hysterical laughs
A hand on the burner, reminiscing lies
There lays a body immune to pain
A dark room, an empty alley
A mosaic of words yet to be uttered
Tied wrists, gagged mouth and numb eyes
A future shattered, a desire satisfied
Footsteps turn from loud to faint
Seven cigars, aligned in a row
A mother clipped to darkness
A stack of cards, some bottles, some dope
The youngest son lets out
A perfect ring
A cold lacerated wrist soaking up
The morning sunshine
The faint smell of dried blood
Tea boiling over the brim of a pot
Cars, passersby and street lights remain