Cymbals of Your Truth
Lone flower sprouting in the cracked face of life.
Spitting dust with vibrating quill at a cold souled world.
Every time you're trampled you sing a song of truth.
Unheard by the high chins perched in high rises made of fluff...
but heard by the people who keep their ear to the concrete.
The people with blistered hearts and grime in their nails
When you're gone-another sidewalk flower will spring up.
through the cracks of indifference.
For certain.
Keep singing-sidewalk flower.
Crack them with the cymbals of your truth.
for P.G
Copyright © Anthony Biaanco | Year Posted 2019
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