Poem: Ghosts of April.

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.

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