On the streets of heat and movement
lie the evidence of pain,
she walks, he talks, the children run
throughout the burning rain.
I can smell the smoke of lifelessness
along the living death,
we talk, they walk, the sirens wail
today may rob our breath.
In the rooms of waste and apathy,
sit silent the insane,
she writes, he writes, the samll hand ticks
the hours fast away...
Jun 29, 2010
Jun 29, 2010 at 10:56 AM UTC
On the streets of heat and movement
lie the evidence of pain,
she walks, he talks, the children run
throughout the burning rain.
I can smell the smoke of lifelessness
along the living death,
we talk, they walk, the sirens wail
today may rob our breath.
In the rooms of waste and apathy,
sit silent the insane,
she writes, he writes, the samll hand ticks
the hours fast away...
D. Conors
c. 1985