Poetry

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There is a cracked concrete. How will I know? The ants try to find their way home. This life have it’s bruises, and bumps in the road. How do they get there, I’ll never know.
There is a cracked concrete. People are dying. The massive heat wave have taking it’s toll. People never have the chance to say goodbye to their old lives. An earthquake rocks one nation. And a terrorist act terrorizes another. A blood as I recall is red. Bleeding through my sheets on my bed. Has the world gone mad? There is a cracked concrete.
The grasses and crops are the victims of this disease called drought. People need to come together, no doubt. They don’t want to draw. And instead of turning to God. They would rather steal, kill, and destroy. That is the devil’s specialties. There is a cracked Concrete.

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