The Projects - a Poem About the Harold Ickes and Cabrini Green Housing Projects

I see the building standing tall
Knowing what's inside
Trying to prepare my heart
For the horror the walls hide

Approaching the gates and bars
And the imprisoning cold stone
It's heart-wrenching to think
To many children, this is home

As I walk in the smell hits
A stench that is beyond compare
No one will take care of it
Because no one really cares

I walk down halls of filth
Up stairs that are so gross
Thinking in this life we live
Children hurt the most

I come to the door I've looked for
I knock and say my name
Knowing once it opens
My life won't be the same

On the other side are children
That are dirty and half dressed
With ratty hair and hungry
Who live a life of death

I look into their eyes
I look upon each face
Each child now a memory
I never can erase

I speak the words that offer hope
To give them a second chance
But uncaring people tell me no
Children trapped by circumstance

They're born in a prison to die
Born in a prison to stay
But someone has to fight for them
Even if we lost today

So I walk away from the door
And down stairs that are so gross
Through these halls of filth
Knowing children suffer most

And as I leave the building
Drugs are offered everywhere
Violence is breaking out
While no one seems to care

But I will never forget
I know what's inside
My heart will always remember
The horror those walls hide