A MAN STUMBLES ACROSS A STREET,

FINGERS GRIPPING THE BROWN PAPER BAG,

A WOMAN PACES BACK AND FORTH,

MAKING SILENT OFFERS TO PASSING DRIVERS.

UP THE BLOCK ANOTHER MAN,

SLUMPS OVER A SIDEWALK BENCH,

HIS BODY HANGING ON SOMEHOW,

BETWEEN THE BENCH AND CONCRETE.

PEOPLE PICKING UP DRUGS ON STREET CORNERS,

SOMETHING TO FILL EMPTY HEARTS,

WITHOUT MATERIAL POSSESSIONS,

TRYING NOT TO BE TOUCHED BY OTHERS.

SO MANY WANTING TO START ANEW,

ONLY HAVE GUTTERS AND SLUMS,

WHERE THEY’RE ABLE TO GO,

NO PLACE TO CALL HOME.

A LIFE WHERE THERE IS NO LOVE,

KNOWING THEY’RE LOST IN SUCH A SAD PLACE,

UNDERSTANDING WHAT LONLINESS IS,

FEELING ISOLATED FROM ALL.

THE LOWEST DAY OF LIFE,

FACT IS, WHAT I’M SAYING,

IS TRUE, I’VE LIVED IT.

HOW DO YOU FIX SOMETHING WHEN ,

NO ONE ELSE SEE’S IT BROKEN,

SOCIETIES ANSWER IS JAIL AND PRISON.

THE REAL CRIME IS EACH OF US,

TRYING TO RUN FROM A PAST WHERE,

THERE WAS LOTS OF,

KIDS LEFT BEHIND.

FINDING THERE WAY TO MANY YEARS,

LOCKED AWAY AND THEN,

DEATH ROW,

WHICH EVER COMES FIRST.

KIDS LEFT BEHIND,

SOCIETIES ANSWER IS JAILS AND PRISONS,

IS TRUE, I’VE LIVED IT,

NO PLACE TO CALL HOME.

TRYING NOT TO BE TOUCHED BY OTHERS,

LOCKED AWAY,

AND THEN DEATH ROW,

WHICH EVER COMES FIRST.

BY

TOMMY LYNN SELLS