The City I Was Born In
To the victims of America
Structures of arts and leisure,
Commerce and invention,
Tower over bustling streets
Packed with a diverse people
That have come from near and far
To pay homage and bear witness
To the city, tall and proud
That threatens to crack and bend,
Doubled over with a weight
It is no longer strong enough to bear.
Neighborhoods of style and grandeur,
Foster home of jazz and
Birthplace of light,
I see shadows of your former glory
Echoing off high arches,
Lingering on carved sculptures,
Peering through stained glass,
And coming to rest, trapped
In the dusty stillness of
Abandoned buildings,
In the exposed cobbled skeleton
Of ancient streets,
And in the hearts of those
Old or wise enough to remember.
For how can younger generations
Remember streets filled with song
When they are filled with garbage?
How can we recall prosperity
In a city of poverty?
How can we know a life of gain
When lives are so senselessly,
And so often, taken away?
I see so called protectors of justice
Accepting bribes and torturing the innocent,
I see homeless men and women
Begging for food,
Their minds and bodies in unhelped agony.
I see children shooting and falling
In streets where they once played.
And I know that whatever Chicago once was,
It may never be again.
(2015)
