Weary footsteps lead me to sleep the sleep of release
I bore witness to the tragedy
War-torn storm surge
Flood waters; waves of death visions of bodies drifting hysteria fills the eyes of these streets and I fade into slumber.
In the hopes that I forget a fragment more of memory's ball and chain.
Thoughts of, "Was I part of the reason we are all in disarray?"
"Is there blood on my hands cursed by mistakes?".
After a sleepless night I wander these desperate early morning streets.
Street corner poet preaching her figures and features reaching raise like a beacon saying, "We're forsaken, but not broken!"
Then I heard her sing:
"Mother, your children are dying as the city sleeps!
Mother, your people are starving tonight!"
"Mother, your children are dying as the city sleeps!
Mother, your people are drowning in your apathy!"
Despair has a face familiar to the city's pace.
You can see it in their eyes I have come to know the price of neglected hearts.
A daily reminder to ponder with every single breath we take.
The suffering remains.
There's people filled with hate.
How long must we maintain?!.
The cities war-torn face cradles the wounded, pleading for rescue.
Replace the city streets with blood and debris.
Drag the waters for broken homes.
Featureless landscapes;
This is true devastation!
This is true devastation!
And their protest voices raise over explosions, pleading:
"Mother, your children are dying as the city sleeps!
Mother, your people are starving tonight!
"Mother, your children are dying as the city sleeps!
Mother, your people are drowning in your apathy!"