Crooklyn

There is a golden seed,

In the middle of a dark alley

With shattered glass and a trail of 

Condoms, pinned down by needles of 

Heroin addicts and junkies.

Its golden aura descends on the 

Chipped brick and graffitti

(That tells the stories of a child's heart)

On the so-so fire escapes and 

Squeaky vermin.

Uncorrupted and unchanged,

This seed; golden

Lies on the breast of tragedy.

This poem is about: 
Our world

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