The Street Life Poem by raymond letsitsa

There are murders in the streets,
The hungry and the poor
are never totally complete,
They wake up in the morning
to the sound of gun shots,
A man killed his family
Because he worshiped evil thoughts,
Strangling them like knots,
Sipping death through a bottle of gasoline
With anger in the mind
and the devil for his sin
There's no change for such like the weather,
they live outside their skin.
Purging the mind with violence,
one man's sanity contained
A baffled multitude stands
like pallbearers,
to mourn a life taken by hand
Someone's son raped yesterday, guts
crushed, they wouldn't understand
So by little strides they take booze
hoping to escape the pain
In the night a man sleeps
to only dream of the wicked slain
A mother aborts a child like a
full drain does it's matter
Herod's daughters sell flesh,
and serve their customers' heads
on a silver platter
They who point fingers
are subject to their own judgment.
In these streets you learn,
go broke like shattered glass,
then blame the government,
Wearing rags because wine makes you mad
so caress the fate of a burning carcass
Akin to Judas you hang like drapes
hoping to rise again like Dorcas
Hope is weary in the world's heart like a withering twig
Men hate each other,
Because other men attract
ladies like moths drawn to flame by
growing wigs
A hungry dog returns to it's vomit,
so to dirt do these dying pigs
A man's life is threatened like a patient's body surrounded by nurses
These around me are pretenders,
a full evidence of uncaring corpses.