Singing on Wet Concrete

Silence made tranquil bliss

shy souls sitting to dismiss

the disorder in their city

they made their own path

travel within the smiles that shined

brighter than the beating light

that shone onward from a 

rusty truck, tired yet restless

siphoned by bad luck

would continue to sing songs

of goodwill

their hearts with untouched sins

their songs louder than the wet

brazzen cracked concrete

became a sort of atlas 

to show them a way

Sing, sing ol' poor hearts

breathe the nomad trail

trudge to linger on.


-Julien Grey


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