This Never-ending Cycle

by Michael Dearman

Midst the Charles Dickens streets of this town
Sleep the myriad bums and bruisers vomited from
Factories, homes, and lives like pollution from smoke stacks
Cliche news papers and cardboard boxes are the only embrace
These poor crumples of humanity will ever feel.
They don’t even turn their shit-streaked faces
To the heavens as acid rain pours
From black, lightning-streaked clouds
Akin to the bursting of puss-filled nodules
On the diseased bodies of plague victims
Why, I ask, would the dregs of society turn their
Cataract eyes to the heavens when all
That meets them is the face of Hell?
The deluge of passersby carries on its face
Neither eyes to see nor ears to hear
Just a mouth
A tongue
And a nose
Spitting, screaming, smelling of feces
All linked in a cycle of never-ending crushing
Of toes, hands, and heads of the rags
On the side of the road
Hurrying through rain,
Excrement is the bane of the eyeless and deaf
Stepping in such toxic, bacterial cesspools would mean
Certain damnation from the mouths of the blind-deaf
The soggy and shredding newspaper cries out
“Save me! Please, take me away from this place!”
No one to see or hear
No one with eyes or ears
Because rags do not become riches
Riches dwindle and die
Steeped in the foulest refuse of the men under the heaven-hell
Burning in acid rain, suffocating on black smoke
Being tossed into meat grinders to feed the masses of the Dickens town
These are the escapes
Through the nondescript door to what?
Another industrial nightmare?
Bah, the homeless will drown
Face first
In their own urine and the blind-deaf will rape everything
For what it’s worth
Because eyes no longer grace the face of beings
Unfit for such a gift
Or such a responsibility
To actually see is too much for the minds of
Weak demons with selfish strides and crushing heels
What is the power that sets apart
The destitute in their corners,
Crying nothing out of blank faces,
Covered in decay and disease
From the arrogance that skates by above
Glancing at their faces, it’s hard to tell
If creatures without eyes
Will ever cry.

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One Response to This Never-ending Cycle

  1. you know i hate writing, but im glad there are good writers like u lol

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