Permission to enter inside
is denied.

We're ******* on stones to get water to live
no one
wants to give us a break so we take.

The council estate.

These palaces built to house Kings have become the
playground of criminals among other things,
things occur.

Where were the planners and was this all planned, did they build these prisons to house all the ******?
I'm ****** if I know and will be ****** if I do.

Way out to the East.

Old Street became the new street when the new kids came to town, buildings surfaced like great white sharks, eating history,
making pock marks, but no green parks.
The starkness sets a nice trend,
we spend a fortune on lucky trinkets and
the Sun sets on
London town.

Helping the ones in need should not be a question left unanswered

in the land of the white
live too the black men
apparently with equal right
but with covert disdain.

why couldn't the world be one place
when we are all from common gene
where humanity is the only race
across the color of skin.

in the land of the black
live too the white men
apparently of the same pack
but on a different plane.

why couldn't the world be one landmass
when we rose from one origin
where being humane is the only class
across the color of skin.

in the land of the white
live the white men
among them aren't equal right
exist disparity and disdain.

why couldn't the world be one unit
when together we all once had been
where brotherhood is boldly writ
across the color of skin.

in the land of the black
live the black men
among them oneness they lack
the inequalities still remain.*

why couldn't the world be one creed
where mankind lives as one kin
the white and the black can only read
love across the color of skin.

Poems kept at home
for family doors, spouses and pets,
Western style houses,
brick on four sides,
wooden style window shutters
open to dry air.

There are always poems you'll never write,
never read,
never know,
the difference is the trodden path
between the ruined stones.