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Broken glass, tears shed.

Mom stands outside to hang her head,

In grief. There is no love left in these streets.

Two blocks over gunshots ring out.

The police officers hear but they sit on the couch,

and wait for the war to be over,

not wanting to risk their children crying at night in their absence.

These thoughts can really make a man sober.


Black smoke curling slowly towards Heaven.

The fish, the birds and the bees, all of God’s creatures forgotten.

Pollution consumes, drowns us in oils and plastic.

All we needed was a little effort, a little compassion, but now all the kids are sick.


As the trees fall, buildings climb higher.

The soil is replaced with concrete, there’s nothing to sink our roots into, our system is corrupt, our situation is dyer.

The melting pot is going to run dry,

instead of a rainbow of souls we’ll be overcome with gray. America will cease to be the land of opportunity,

it’ll just be a desolate place remembered for its scrutiny.


We will suffer in silence,

choking on the smoke and promises they gave us.

Swallowing the pill only to give us cancer.

And I must ask you, where do you stand, sir?

This poem is about: 
Our world
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


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