The ghetto is not the unsafe streets,
strings of crazed graffiti, broken glass,
ramshackle homes long abandoned,
dull gazes of the homeless following
sounds of echoing police sirens.
The ghetto is bound within the minds
of those who tend to wall themselves off,
examine every conscience before their own,
curse innocence with phantasms of ignorance.
The ghetto dwells deep within ourselves.
Poet’s Notes ####
If you feel strongly about this poem, leave a comment below!
(I won’t delete rude comments, I’ll just reuse them in a poem — with attribution. ;-))
The image of the initial draft can be seen here: