Tantalizing tunes hearkens deep into the darkness,
Piercing through the dense fog of the night,
Evangelizing,
Awakening,
And calling forth,
Its audience,
Where shady’ shadows lurk.
I see ‘em doin’ paper chasin’ dances,
Singin’, their euphoric notes of,
Adrenaline pimpin’,
Needle humpin’,
In dark, menacing corners,
Of a hustler’s famous stage.
On the corner,
I see spilled,
Permanent blood-stained lyrics,
Of the same ol’ song,
Of red streams flowin’,
Down,
Down,
Down,
These concrete pages,
In the hood again.
Led by another illusory maestro,
Holdin’ onto his hot steel baton,
Finger trigger twirlin’,
Performances of gun smokin’ exchanges,
With another lead conductor,
Facilitating a new following of,
Devious,
Instrumental,
Death playin’,
Nocturnal,
Angelic musicians.
There’s always a new breed…
Waiting.
Pied Pipers of the street,
March to this acclaimed symphony,
Arousing the attention,
Of shape shifters,
Architectural mind gamers,
And street pharmacists,
Ready to medicate,
And regulate,
Your obituary.
Still, there is an alarming following,
Of these scrape steppin’,
Robotic drones,
Cultivated,
Manipulated,
And entranced by,
The disconcerting,
Haunting rhymes,
In these,
Symphonies militias.
This deafening overture of battles,
Is eerily familiar,
Reverberating its usual cadence,
Of maliciousness,
Rhythms stealin’,
And disappearin’,
Into the night,
Amongst those who choose to be,
Deaf and blind listeners.
It dissipates into,
Faded,
Ghostly whispers,
Forcefully heard and impacted,
By those few,
Dedicated,
Discarded groupies.
Everyday,
We all pray,
For these street symphonies,
To,
End.
Listen…
Can you still hear them play?
.........I can.
