Oakland's Ghost Ship Warehouse Fire Poem by James McLain

Artist's gathered here to live,
this warehouse
for to many was the difference
between becoming homeless.

A magnet for tragedy,
loitering pedestrians gather to see what
could not be seen, morbid mind's.

Hidden by the smoke a scandal hides to rear
it's ugly head it lacked hindsight.
Hunter's, hunt for meat,
charred beyond the point of who is what.

Father media here wears black,
medals temper lost, one wanders lost and dazed
where they all played as people play.

Broken window's,
burning blue's and copper's green.
Machines scrape up flesh and burning shoes
with the charred trash.

Out side no one heard the screams as death
turned off the light's
and in the dark and breathing smoke,
became a pyre and human fat burned as fat
as from a whale.

Breathing one last breath the crowd is turned away,
to cast a net of blame.