Planet Of Slums. Poem by Ripper Jones

In the planet of slums,
The very tin sheets are alive.
Rusty corrugated tin
Where souls are destroyed.
They Drip with putrid moisture
That hangs menacingly
Above malnourished heads.
Yes, humans live here,
Like creatures of the night,
Always looking For the chance,
The main chance,
When their sad lives are changed,
And starvation and pot bellies
Play God's last laugh.
Diseased drinking water
Their only fuel to carry on
In this devil of a world.

And just beside them,
The fetid conscience of
The gated communities,
Where the unchosen ones aspire to.
But time goes on,
And the one chance,
The miracle chance,
The main chance
Lets time run its course,
And only in death
Are they free and equal