Broken Glass

Shattered window; shattered lives

Inner-city where life is gritty

Heads kept down and eyes moving

Dangerous bubble full of trouble

Keep your distance; don’t ever stop

People dealing, people stealing

No place certain of security

Home invasion a false equation

Worthless things with little value

Some they take; some they break

Importance not even sentimental

Broken glass; smash and grab

Damaged people; damaged things

What little hope is under fire

Nothing from nothing; still nothing

Shattered lives slowly splintering

No direction, no protection

Surrounded by the noise and trash

Thugs and gangs, symbols and slang

Every night; another fight

Tinted windows on creeping cars

Bullets flying; children dying

Not a hint of law enforcement

They stay away; just too afraid

Bleeding boys but help won’t come

Another headstone in the danger zone

Violence rising; it’s just galvanizing

Those with nothing band together

Fight the power; bring down the tower

Trying to escape the poverty

Might makes right but dims the light

Something taken can be retaken

Shattered dreams and curling screams

Just another night in hell

Social service makes everyone nervous

Then another person just disappears

Illegal migrants hide in silence

Staying underground or be deported

Try to save while they live like slaves

Sending pennies back to somewhere

Welfare mothers running numbers

The abortion clinic that never closes

Homeless Vets live with regrets

DC turned their back on them

Always rough, and never enough

Shortage is a daily thing

Skipping lunch at the end of the month

In the ghetto it’s a regular thing

Things are hard; no funds on the card

Break some glass and look for cash

Shattered windows; shattered lives

A daily battle, just to survive

R J Schwartz

I write about everything and sometimes nothing at all.I'm fascinated by old things, rusty things, abandoned places, or anywhere that a secret might be unearthed.I'm passionate about history and many of my pieces are anchored in one concept of time or another.I've always been a writer, dating back to my youth, but the last decade has been a time of growth for me.I'm continually pushing the limitations of vocabulary, syntax, and descriptive phrasing.

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R J Schwartz

I write about everything and sometimes nothing at all. I'm fascinated by old things, rusty things, abandoned places, or anywhere that a secret might be unearthed. I'm passionate about history and many of my pieces are anchored in one concept of time or another. I've always been a writer, dating back to my youth, but the last decade has been a time of growth for me. I'm continually pushing the limitations of vocabulary, syntax, and descriptive phrasing.

2 thoughts on “Broken Glass

  • April 19, 2019 at 2:44 PM
    Permalink

    Such a harsh life of struggle and all too true. Your poem is an excellent portrayal of life in the ghetto, Ralph. It brings it all out like the silence shattering sound of a bullet, blasting a hard and fast reminder there is another side of life, a devastating one where life is fraught with fear and hate. Well done.

    Reply
  • May 5, 2019 at 9:45 AM
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    Gritty and real. I enjoyed the rhythm of your line in this poem. The rhythm worked well with the content. Well done Ralph. Jamie

    Reply

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