Undreamt

Nets below rush to their deaths, rust colored jackets burst forth luring the suspect to their poetic demise.

Clean hands keep the blood from running from shoulders broken, hunched, as the rest of our lives fleet in this never ending game of let's wait and see. 

Poverty the defilement is complete as hearts to proud to cry, well beyond the dam's break too ashamed to see their own faces. 

Solitude let's go of the reality that bites and nibbles at our ankles unable to run, as the slender noose holds us in place as we free fall into the ether without realizing the climb here killed us long before the fall.

Hard lines carve the face, the droning of circus melodies flair from the undertow.

Sweat fills the dirt, and we tremble the high flyers we are.

Distant thunder, and no applause we sink thirty thousand feet.

The windows peak but don't stare.

If we wake up now will these atrocities cease?

If the atrocities cease, who will be left to remember?

The net below rots away.