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