Under the shadow of spires

Under the shadow of spires

Ego towers scraping the sky,

In ramshackle streets

With the graffiti,

Broken bins

Spewing out the detritus of modern life,

The wretched rags of disposable income,

In the underbelly

Where the flesh crawls

With decay

Every day is a challenge

Of ingenuity.

Bullets fly in all directions

But not all at once,

There is a semblance of order

To the chaos

For those who rise above

As bodies only fall

Down.

The ground is always littered

With one thing or the other.

Lay down your arms

Refuse the call to perform

From the gods

In the posh seats

Sporting glad rags and blood

Diamonds.

High among the stars

Where the moon is as big as a weather balloon,

Wealth is a golden ticket.

There is no need for an entrance exam

Society passes the champagne

In crystal glasses,

Genteele chatter

Glides over rose petal gardens,

Soft leather shoes

Shuffle on polished dancefloors

As well-heeled bright young things

Walk on gilded splinters.

Barely aware

Of the nearly departed

Struggling to breathe

In the down below.

Lay down your weapons

Not your lives

The knives and guns,

Brickbats and barbed comments

May draw blood

If you let them

But blatant disregard

Is as dangerous

As a machine gun

In the wrong hands.