The Ghetto
My steps, I take them slow
As I walk through the ghetto
For me, it’s not a foreign sight
To my left, and to my right
The same set, the same scene
A broken home, a broken dream
There is no sign of solid land
On these streets of deadly quicksand
What I have again found, I dread
The dead are living, and the living, are dead
Where will these souls go,
When this is all they know?
My steps I take them slow
As I walk through the ghetto
There, I met a man
On the corner, hat in hand
His name, I can’t recall
But his eyes, they said it all
He spoke of Jesus and such
I heard, but didn’t listen much
I found it rather odd
A vagabond, praising god
Here is my curiosity unmasked
“Where is your god?”
Boldly, I asked
He leaned toward with quiet fear
“Not here,” whispered he, “not here.”
My steps, I take them slow
As I walk through the ghetto
I pass the sign of no return
What I’ll find, I’ve yet to learn
I will leave, but thankfully
It will never leave me
I look behind once more
And stand before my proverbial door
Here begins, a better world
For this rugged ghetto girl
My steps, I take them slow
As I walk beyond the ghetto
Copyright © Briana Collard | Year Posted 2009
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