In cloistered Shadows...Lie struggle.
In Cloistered Shadows They Struggle.
There are doors
in back street alleys
and in derelict structures,
that sorrow passes through daily,
where tragedy is ever prevailing.
Hunger squats on a
second floor walkup,
tiny soul silently wailing
on a filthy blood-stained mattress,
as a smidgen of malnourished life,
sucks a dribble of breast flow
from her crack addicted mother,
whom she may never grow to know.
Drunks lie in the basement
of the old Five and dime store,
closed twenty years now,
snoring through an alcoholic haze,
in various poses of stupor,
waiting for dawn to break.
Then staggering out in a daze,
so they can beg a dime from
enough folks that pass them daily,
to buy a fifth and later drift
on liquid dreams of better lives,
grateful when oblivion finally arrives.
Joe beats his wife
on the third level
of the butcher shop,
giving a hard fisted thanks
in a quick short chop,
for her burning his precious toast.