Torn & Dancing
We
were young and mad and torn and hostile, as prevalent
as
graffiti. Our love was more the core of pain, where
parents
were multiple drug addicts, subject to live and perish
death.
We loved a life of flames, ever to challenge structure,
bright-eyed
and dizzy. Such ambition, envied for mercy—
curse
to curse, and flame to joint.
We
knew of love: a
teenage
heart, second only to the streets. We ran and fell—a
bandage
knee, and kissed and mourned—a damaged frame.
We
knew not distinction, cultured to madness, house to
house,
and block to block. In truth—an earth was sore and
sullen,
city to city, and world to world.
Pain,
such an intimate
chance,
plaguing—both poor and rich. We travelled near and
far,
a human mask, and jokes to follow. We never fathomed
a
jealous mind: free and born, torn and dancing.