"A Voice From The Ghetto"
by daniel-jay-mc-shane
I sneak a peek through the bullet hole in my dirty
kitchen's window,
steel bars prevent escape.
I gaze upon piles of worthless junk thoughtlessly
discarded on the asphalt lot below,
where children run and play.
Momma drinks to another day's sorrows, from a
fingerprinted glass,
surrounded by the colored bottles from yesterday's
celebration.
I quietly walk to the living room
where a suffering Jesus weeps silently upon the
silver-flowered wallpapered wall,
I swear sometimess he speaks to me in a whisper,
telling me,
"Don't despair."
Arguing voices cursing the misfortunes of a drug deal
gone bad.
Break! The silence outside my living room's door.
Dungeon gray....
Heavy as steel.....
Countless locks.....
A piercing scream echoes,
goes ignored,
then fades....
I sit alone upon our dusty brown couch,
as Momma rambles on senselessly in the other room,
an alcholics tune.
I stare once again to the suffering Jesus hanging hopelessly
upon the wall,
as the night draws near and the light as dim as my
dreams?
I whisper a tearful prayer for hope,
within this ghetto's
gloom.....