There is hope.
The cold nights in his delving
And the ill fated breath of deadness
The pity and the brown penny coins
Of longing solitude and salary
The hounds the smoke
The filtering of the city’s lungs
Shattered mouth, teeth
Of rotting breath,
cheese and sly wine
Patched up spots
and grimy illuminate shine
The laughter, the death
The disappearing and
Swimming of the soul
Higher classes, clash and spit
They shine of those boots
Air lingers cold,
Those blackened fingers snap
Hollowness of shallowness
Though death not be remembered
Though shall it be refused
For it ceased to be heard
Know fear shall balance the weight
Of falling on gutter times
Breathing in the last supper of air
And remembering times before
Cast a wave into the black sky
And be reborn like Jesus