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by Anna Morrow There is a pristine cleaniliness that comes from digging through these mazes This relentless naughty jungle that keeps hostages of folks that are mightier and penniless A purity of soul transcends them hovers over the sticky hot cement Posibilities rise up from the sweaty pavement where people hold there hands out Working hard barely moving in active participation of grassroots tithing Consumed by meakness and hostility dispising and worshiping themseves - day after dingy day The monotony collides with hypnotize: an unavoidable medititation of what it is to be without To be lifted up, to fly away outside this body that offends some that most everyone ignores I might rise up above the masses confessing the secrets of these trenches shouting out all of the inadequacies and betrayals into the wind into the ear of god You could tell the story of our lineage how our once humble hearts were belittled and now are humbled once again by the history of our grievances the tale of our common sorrows Unashamed Unadorned Unappologetic |