Lying in the street
with the ominous air running through my feet
Great waves of depression
glide through open arms and steady
How on God’s name am I here?
Thorough psalms of plentiful grace
break into the earthly concaves
and pleasantries
O’er strides I sit
waiting to compliment
death with arousal of conscious life
O’ the large magnitude of gratitude
This deathly ill street provideth
The time has come my friends
to rise from earthly ashes
to live lively in all of life’s complications
to gather our strength
to carry on
to continue thriving
rather than just surviving
Aesthetically, my time is nie
and our fields of rye have died
The time to ferment such
conflicts and confides in me much
and the barley soon will compromise
I the rye
eye the lies
in tenacious lye
I the barley
have overcome deathly parties
Festivals of tremendous size and stature
The venture hard
the life brutal and battered
I am alone,
alone on avenue nine
Brick eleven
Sat in barbaric silence
Tears trembled down my spine
utterly divine
The crime
of crying
is so thrilling
and chilling
I am filling
with pure emotion

  • J.Broadway