Tenement Lot

A spot On the urban blight Where once stood A faded five Story hovel For the poorest of the poor Fallen in final decay Victim of time Neglect, hopeless poverty Political impotence No flowers, No ripe tomatoes Not even marajuana Just the weeds Of poverty Smashed, broken glass of dreams Dead in their infancy When reality set in No cucumbers, no lilies, A few times An unplanted corpse Of this weeks murder An unholy offering To the Devil, Janitor, custodian, And owner of this concentrated bastion of hell No meadow views, No gardens of wonder, No horses running free No freshly painted red barns No fluffy clouds No visions of wonder No hope on the horizon No chance to escape Doomed to poverty Doomed to crime Doomed to a life Wandering without point Sure, there are Places of wonder Places of beauty. But not here. Not anywhere near here And these people Have no hope Of laying on a grassy meadow. There is no Glen of wonder here There are no castles on the East River. This is the realm of despair. Where drug laced Zombies walk the streets Infected hookers guard their turf. Where no hope does dwell in what is Naught but hell.