Streets

by the sweet red rivers of life,

promise of future

now swept away

and gone forever.

Soft tears fall hard against stone,

cold as steel,

but there are no answers

to chase the why.

Shadows fall against sun

for their light has become dark,

and chalk outlines whisper

of lives led to here and now.

And we are the ghosts

left in their wake,

left to walk these streets

that bleed with violence,

and innocence is no more

but a red rose

left beside a grave.

How much more must we lose

before we break,

before these streets

are walked no more?