The View From Above |
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A gander into the crystal ball.
All I wanted to do
Was see what was happening in the world.
I should have known better.
I'm always drawn to the worst.
It was frightful,
How a delightful sunlit day can reveal so many gray
Clouds.
I saw a spot in the Village
Where junkies migrated in crowds.
It was a herd of pinpoint pupils,
Trudging zombified to the East,
Admitting silently to themselves,
That dawn would not conquer the beast.
These junkies,
A pack in which I once roamed,
Are a mystifying site to pedestrians scurrying along,
Each pack judgmental of the other,
Neither thinking they are wrong.
A young woman from the zombie pack,
Deviates to suffice a need,
Enters a bodega,
Pockets a Cinnabon,
Not for greed, but to feed.
As she walks out,
There stood a man with a badge in her sight,
But he was too busy for her,
Stuck between two bums in a fight.
She grimaced inside for not being caught,
But was oblivious to what was behind the bum altercation,
The sad truth is these less fortunate souls,
Exchanged blows
Over cardboard hibernation.
Three blocks south,
Stood a man by his Buick,
Parked on a well-traveled school path.
A happy young boy skipped by,
Knapsack bouncing,
Never thinking that skip would be his last.
The dirty leper sneered,
Snatched his prey while no one was aware,
The child's soul would only know corruption,
A hell for which he could not prepare.
The Buick barreled uptown,
Bypassing a fiend in a mask with a gun,
Who was entering a liquor store,
Not intending to decease a mother's son.
He steadily pointed his piece,
"All the money - in the bag - NOW!",
Hell broke loose,
The cashier refused,
And blood instantly flood the aisle.
The gunman fled with godspeed,
Deafened by the sound of two street bikes racing afar,
Right up Broadway,
Past infested bars,
Weaving in and out of cars.
One racer looked back,
To see how much ground he'd gained,
When an ambulance with sirens blaring pulled into his lane,
Immediate pain,
Pavement blood stained.
Now the ambulance was delayed,
And an elderly woman suffered and perished,
Choking on a cold chicken bone,
Clicking that life alert button she cherished.
It's a shame because her grandchild,
Was on the way to say hello,
But they were greeted by sirens,
And some chunky uniformed fellow.
The bearer of fatal news
Instantly put tears in the child's eyes,
The child fled in haste,
Ran through the park,
To tell his dad of Grandma's demise.
But on the run he fell hard,
Blood poured from his left arm,
So a working man stopped his day to help,
Speaking softly to keep him calm.
But as the man bent down to attend the need,
Another man invaded the back of his slacks,
He turned quickly,
But the pickpocket was escaping,
Running like wind toward the alley cracks.
Five minutes passed, the pickpocket slowed,
He knew he safely got away,
He counted his loot, took what he needed to cop,
And hit the spot to start his day.
It wasn't even 10am.
The crystal ball made me sick.
I'm going to write a fluffy poem now,
My mind needs a trick.
All I wanted to do
Was see what was happening in the world.
I should have known better.
I'm always drawn to the worst.
It was frightful,
How a delightful sunlit day can reveal so many gray
Clouds.
I saw a spot in the Village
Where junkies migrated in crowds.
It was a herd of pinpoint pupils,
Trudging zombified to the East,
Admitting silently to themselves,
That dawn would not conquer the beast.
These junkies,
A pack in which I once roamed,
Are a mystifying site to pedestrians scurrying along,
Each pack judgmental of the other,
Neither thinking they are wrong.
A young woman from the zombie pack,
Deviates to suffice a need,
Enters a bodega,
Pockets a Cinnabon,
Not for greed, but to feed.
As she walks out,
There stood a man with a badge in her sight,
But he was too busy for her,
Stuck between two bums in a fight.
She grimaced inside for not being caught,
But was oblivious to what was behind the bum altercation,
The sad truth is these less fortunate souls,
Exchanged blows
Over cardboard hibernation.
Three blocks south,
Stood a man by his Buick,
Parked on a well-traveled school path.
A happy young boy skipped by,
Knapsack bouncing,
Never thinking that skip would be his last.
The dirty leper sneered,
Snatched his prey while no one was aware,
The child's soul would only know corruption,
A hell for which he could not prepare.
The Buick barreled uptown,
Bypassing a fiend in a mask with a gun,
Who was entering a liquor store,
Not intending to decease a mother's son.
He steadily pointed his piece,
"All the money - in the bag - NOW!",
Hell broke loose,
The cashier refused,
And blood instantly flood the aisle.
The gunman fled with godspeed,
Deafened by the sound of two street bikes racing afar,
Right up Broadway,
Past infested bars,
Weaving in and out of cars.
One racer looked back,
To see how much ground he'd gained,
When an ambulance with sirens blaring pulled into his lane,
Immediate pain,
Pavement blood stained.
Now the ambulance was delayed,
And an elderly woman suffered and perished,
Choking on a cold chicken bone,
Clicking that life alert button she cherished.
It's a shame because her grandchild,
Was on the way to say hello,
But they were greeted by sirens,
And some chunky uniformed fellow.
The bearer of fatal news
Instantly put tears in the child's eyes,
The child fled in haste,
Ran through the park,
To tell his dad of Grandma's demise.
But on the run he fell hard,
Blood poured from his left arm,
So a working man stopped his day to help,
Speaking softly to keep him calm.
But as the man bent down to attend the need,
Another man invaded the back of his slacks,
He turned quickly,
But the pickpocket was escaping,
Running like wind toward the alley cracks.
Five minutes passed, the pickpocket slowed,
He knew he safely got away,
He counted his loot, took what he needed to cop,
And hit the spot to start his day.
It wasn't even 10am.
The crystal ball made me sick.
I'm going to write a fluffy poem now,
My mind needs a trick.
Other recommended poems based on this one: SICK | TORNADO | EMERGE | ADDICTION
Need help writing slam poetry? Check out some posts, blogs and articles here
Need help writing slam poetry? Check out some posts, blogs and articles here