These Streets

These streets, are ours

Their hearts beat, with ours

Their blood, runs in our veins

And we feel, all of their pains

And yet, as we rot

You won’t let us squat

In these houses, in these homes

Of which we are the skin and bones

Bricks and mortar are just the skin

Life comes from those who live within

And while empty they remain

No blood flows through their veins

Because you’d rather these streets die

Than give us a place to lie

.

So on these streets of ours

We sleep beneath the stars

Under bridges, burning tyres

Keeping warm with trashcan fires

And while these streets die and rot

You still won’t let us squat

And these houses and these homes

Are nothing but piles of wood and stone

‘Cause empty they remain

No blood flowing through their veins

Because you’d rather these streets die

Than give us a place to lie

So instead you let us die

 

11 thoughts on “These Streets

  1. This is such a powerful poem, Matt. This is so wonderfully written. I wish could write as powerfully as you do. Your words… They carry the pain of these people. I suddenly find myself, one among them. Thanks for this post.

    Liked by 1 person

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