Riots in the streets;
Decimated, decapitated ideals-
I do not know if it was real;
I saw the ghost of April.
When we were young we ran the streets;
Down with our sneakers and bare feet;
It happened in April, May and June,
July and August too-
We were kids, summertime alive in us.
As we grew older our sneakers tore and wore-
Out, outside we’d never go, but sit behind-
Office chairs, beware! Here comes revelation,
Out of thin air-
Our good times, we can never go back there.
I remember one April,
Hat on my head, blocking out sunlight,
We stayed up all night, till moonlight;
We listened to the crickets chirp-
We drank lemonade.
The riots now caress the city streets,
The quiet now makes hearts beat,
Faster, faster, anticipating-
Patiently waiting for a judgement day.
Rich men, white as snow, thrown off white horses,
Women of kin in a den of denials show no remorses,
And we begin again, the end of an age of aging-
I saw the ghost of April in my lemonade.
I saw the ghost of April in this treason we have made.