White Houses; Black Roads
Sympathy like broken shutters,
Lost in the open wind.
White houses line wind torn streets,
Picket fences enclose grass daggers.
No more skies for my eyes to see;
But oh, how nice it’d be,
To glimpse those white houses just once.
Garbage cascades here
As rain does everywhere around.
Pain desperation, envy, longing,
Completely ensconced in overflowing gutters.
white houses; black roads,
But roads are essential to every path.
White houses pad those pit dark lanes,
Yet constantly show what they lack.
Wander the streets,
Explore the sewers,
Angels, thrown out of their perfect pure houses;
Within days sporting dirtied hems.
No idea how to escape our perpetual predicament,
No clue how to cease sinking down.
Solemnly we watch, think back to refusing clean hands.
Slowly, grudgingly, disgustedly,
Reaching forward to soothe their scuffed morality