The Pilgrimage

A Poem by J. B.

A work delving into a dark part of my childhood growing up in poor and violent neighborhoods. If you have any questions about the language used in the piece, be sure to ask. Enjoy!

This is my anthem,
once unwritten

Sounds of sirens, front porch violence
then the cricket silence

Bullet holes, strapped in schools
Breaking rules

Breaking down

Shakur, JC, Mack Ted;
My bible
An empty stomach
A cardboard bed
No chance of survival

Count my blessings with broken whiskey bottles

Lay there til you piss yourself
Afraid he'd hear the creakin of the creepin
"It's not worth it. Pretend you're sleepin"

Contemplatin life takin
My own, yours
Unmarked gravestones,
blaspheming on the pay-phones

7-11, Sticks, Bones and Dominos
Plywood windows

There's no God here in Northside
No angels in Wilkinsburgh
Just cocaine in the bath tubs,
Rusty blood on the curb

The laundromat is full
The homes are hollow
Crack stored in the shoe box
No sales for Uncle Joe today

Better luck tomorrow

Sleep and repeat
No water for the rinsing
Just liquor in the cabinet
Church bells and dove releasing

I'm not looking for your sympathy
Just for the recognition of unrealized premonition
A ghost before the pickaxe hits the virgin
Before the first fistful of dirt on the wooden door,
Before the first pour.
It's something you learned to ignore

But not today.

The ignorant, be damned
And let damnation kindle the salvation
of a nation, broken
now woken
Woke now to the silenced, spoken
Woke now to the addicted, chokin
on the struggle of one meal a day
for 2 blue eyes and 4 brown hands
and a rotty to guard the brown paper bag we hide under the mattress

It's only a matter of time before they snatch us

Practice lightin matches to burn the stashes before they catch us

Confine and condemn us
Larson, arson
seek forgiveness from the parson

Run down the block with bare feet and barred teeth

Guilty or not doesn't matter when you're caught

Jump the car and drive

lookin at the world through my rearview
on the constant
on the cuff
turn the corner
call the bluff

"Gotta get away gotta get away gotta get away."

No sirens. No flashing lights.
So dump the car, find a spot to chill.
To breathe
To sleep

the roof of Franco's
is unknown by the popo's and lifetime hobos

a safe place if you gotta get away
Gotta stay away
For the cool down and
the fade away

Lookin down on the steel city
and 'ain't that somethin
the world seems less chaotic up here
lookin down'
breathe in and let my head clear

Glad to get away for a minute

...freedom for a moment

But who knows, tomorrow

© 2017 J. B.

My Review

Would you like to review this Poem?
Login | Register

Featured Review

LKBillips

Intensely descriptive and full of grit. The experiences in this poem are eye opening and realistic. I could never be where you've been, but I feel my heart racing with the chase, I feel the calm of the roof, the beat of the street and the sounds and smells of the city. I feel this was very successful.