Second Hand Feet

Wooden windows surround tin doors

Amidst the vacant lots of recession

Bleakly blank the concrete juntas stare

Their shuttered eyes closed in despair

Boarded on the up and broken down

Where grafitti is writing on the wall 

Telling colourful tales of sold up truth

Scrawled upon an empty derelict mall

Odd shoes playing games on the street

A surreal paradox of second hand feet

Where neighbours used to meet and greet

Beyond the corrugated rust of economy

Writ ruined across the urban landscape

The indices of poverty surround us

Each soul now exiled on main street

Circumnavigating slowly faster circles

Siphoned down the tubes of experience

Indexed on the type face of existence

Casting spells upon ourselves is pointless

It’s just an exercise in ignorant futility

Nothing’s writ and even less is certain

Everything so scary nothing frightens us

The darkest hour is still before the dawn

Government only take but people bring

Music still plays and the dancing flings

Artists will paint and singers always sing

Such are the sights and songs of resistance

Our hopes spring poetically and eternal

The future ours, it can still be beautiful.