Out among the places where rats live with vermin
the voiceless masses protest their lack of anything to say
by striking out blind against a world that swallowed them,
rummaging for purpose in the lives of others,
and carrying off fool’s treasure to the shadows where they count their spoils.
The floors we walk are stained with blood
that flowed from a stranger’s veins to drown this place
and out to the street where a river runs full of it,
rising higher with each day that dawns,
each blind fool who wanders into its current
swept off to the ocean and out to sea.
Back at the source a door is left open,
and eyes watch the river away in the distance
for a sign, any sign, that the blood will cease flowing.
I haven’t posted anything the past few days because me and a couple of my best friends took an impromptu mini-vacation just before the weekend. It was a much, much needed break from life. Now I’m back to it, and I’ll keep doing my best to get a new poem up every day, starting with this one. Looking forward to reading your thoughts on this one.