Avenue of Desolate Angels

Avenue of Desolate Angels

The chill pulled the warmth
from the souls of their feet
Each step rang out in a silent clamor
Pain echoed from heel to toe heel to toe
Trapped in Hell between numb and nightmare

Plastic cardboard fortresses lined the broken avenue
Makeshift Fires kept abandoned souls alive
Heat is like oxygen necessary to survive
Subzero razors shave skin to the bone

Newspaper shoe liners double duty holding warmth and
filling holes thin as tissue tread on concrete miles

Yellow haired angel halo of misfortune…
Won’t you tell me your name?

Heavy Hollow eyes don’t say a word and I recognize the smell of
death from childhood memories

One by One along the boulevard a breeding ground of empty hopelessness steals the lost faces of humanity

Has their path to salvation been silenced choked snuffed out of existence with each Hot Shot stuck between the toes?

A river of tears could fall from the city sky and nothing could wash away the American caste system of corporate failure

Here are the dreggs of society
You can here them howl upon arrival and death
The voiceless prisoners of fate don’t hang their heads in shame
There is a strength purity in freedom living off the electric grid the other side of stone walled cells built for comfort but little more

There is no governor no true kings of these streets only feeble bodies
made of piss and blood
We make up the New generation we are the roaches of atomic explosions
We are the survivors that don’t want to live
We exist somewhere between memory and death

We’ve seen the signs read the truth that hides within the lies we have been privy to the knowledge that the end will come

No bunkers underground or castles in the sky elitist survival guide will save you from the coming day

White Light so Bright perceived within our second sight we believe No we Know there is no true escape for the truly damned.

We sit on curbside thrones
Never underestimating our lot in life we may not appear Noble
but we are clean within

The money changers law makers sinners on the hills
The ones that point fingers
Gag with disgust
They are the marked ones the great deluge will wash away

We are the meek
The silence of society
We are the hunger that no one wants to feed
We are the reflections that go bump in the night
The tell tale stories of boogie men hidden underneath the bed
We are the faces that no one wants to recognize
We are the condemnation that is the binding of their soul
We are the Avenue of Desolate Angels

Welcome the rain
Welcome the rain…

MB93
2022