Waiting for Change

I look out across the dingy city.
Towers loom over the filthy streets,
the roads, broken, have no destination,
and the street signs, blank, give no direction.
The shear sound of guns firing pierces through the semi-quiet night.
Sirens blaring constant now
as red and blue lights dance along the crumbling brick.
Old apartment buildings seem crippled;
their rusted windows, shattered glass, and crumbling bricks shiver in the cold.
Dilapidated warehouses home to ice addicts sink into the cities shadows,
and peace is nowhere to be found.

I look up at the vacant sky.
No stars sleep above me.
No moon shines.
The blackness only stares,
beckoning.

I look at the violence.
the crimson stains, now faded, stain the sidewalks,
the bullet holes in the cracked glass distort my reflection, and
the wanted posters hold barren faces soaked in hate.

I look out past the somber city,
past the barren sky,
past the violence,
and there I leer at peace blazing in the darkness.
Calling my name.

I answer,
“I cannot come,
for I am bound here,
to the violence that holds me captive to this cage,
and I will not break free until I witness change.”

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