Poem By gregory collins
The breadline is staring me down.
Let the lightning use the thunder as a trumpet.
Salt wakes up in the breath of wind.
The world watches both alive and dead.
Beneath my shoes the sun never seems to change.
Our spirits are no longer bouyant.
Yesterday i was thinking of ways to make it better.
Like grabbing the keys to the starry-eyed sky
and know what it means to stand where we are.
Maybe tomorrow i will find what nobody knows;
That the heart must stay awake even over an open fire.
Where i have got one of your tears in a stranglehold.
Because fate is someone to be trusted,
and forgive me for believing there is a chance.