Ghetto Fare
J
James McLain
0
Altın Yaprak
Grateful are we for plates paper fare
fuel pens need to be heard and seen.
Winters fare needs no heat beating
hearts Ghettos soul of frozen coffins.
Upon each brick a name saying chiseled
ice cubes of tears to warm a moaning smile.
Cacophonies plethoria racked in loathings
momentous charges carry glorious dreams.
Twilight's lecherous airs folded in your hand
discarded to lay underfoot bleeding sorrows.
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