PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

As I walk through the ghetto,

I see young women with children.

Some attempting to keep them safe,

from the reality of their surroundings.

Others seemingly oblivious to these

effects on the minds of their young.



A user making a needed connection,

around the corner from their homes.

The gangs of those who wear colors,

thinking it represents their manhood.

A crack whore doing her oral business

just inside a dirty alley for all to see.

Blood stains still fresh on the sidewalk,

apparently left from the night before.



I hear a screech of tires around the corner,

just as I pass where the gang is standing.

Then a car speeds by with windows open,

and bright flashes glowing from within.

Sounds of gunshots reeling in my ears,

as a burning pain erupts within my chest.

My knees buckle as I fall to the ground,

seeing others rolling in pain next to me.



My body turns cold and vision goes dark,

as I become a victim of my surroundings

and just another memory in a child's mind.