Cracks In The Pavement
The machine feeds us our hate rations, Whites and Blacks, Young and Old; aren’t we all looking for the same acceptance? .
One day when we are gone the world will be beautiful again.
If beauty lies within the eye of the beholder, then surely beauty is no more, for our eyes are glazed over with violence and contempt.
Cracks in the pavement go unfixed, giving bloom to all the new, prickles and thorns.
Artificial flowers grow from splintered window-boxes, yet another vision of false hope