ghetto

ghetto

through the proverbial window, I see the ghetto in brilliant colors...
the poets write with intense, red passion swirling around their words like fireflies in the night
the musicians play indigo blues while my heart listens
... and the intellectuals speak on the injustice of the greedy, yellow-bellied politicians taking advantage of poverty-stricken neighborhoods because all they really see is that old money green
black creativity pouring out of the broken down slums, thriving under colorism and degradation
i see a beautiful ghetto shrouded in chaos
under siege by forces seen, yet unheard
i see a beautiful ghetto despite this, but my window gives me a warped depiction of what the ghetto truly shows
it's hard, gritty, and motionless
potential destroyed by brainwashing perpetuated by the masses
it's an ever-suffering state of deprivity and pollution into our rich, ethnic culture
as you read this poem, it spreads throughout the world
killing my hopes for a better day