I feel very grateful to be inspired to write poetry. It always come so randomly, but also so strongly for me. I was inspired to write one evening when I was walking the 3 blocks home from work…
Let’s take a walk down Bank Street
where broken glass grows faster than grass
a “good afternoon” could be the last thing someone hears.
where children’s laughter in abandoned school yards from past recesses should be heard louder than
If walls could tell a story, the homes in the West End could fill volumes of a time that “once was”
where prostitution wasn’t a norm, and food benefits weren’t being cut like the last plate at a food kitchen.
Where a robbery is only a crime, not a means for survival
and strength to make it to the next day
I HOPE that even though we may have a different past
I am who I am because of you [ubuntu] andlifeisa
g i f t
that is not opened by everyone everyday.
So let us walk down Bank Street where birthdays are celebrated at memorials on the places of deaths on every block-
where bottles of grey goose, cigarettes, candles, wilted flowers
commemorate the soul that enjoyed them.
Where prayers like “If the sky that we look upon, should tumble and fall
All the mountains should crumble to the sea…
I won’t cry, I won’t cry
No, I won’t shed a tear
Just as long as you stand, stand by me”
should be expressed loud and clear.
This is Bank Street.