Crumbling South Bronx as Muse by A-S-m-i-t-h, literature
Literature
Crumbling South Bronx as Muse
A spray-painted man stands guard,
On worn, fading bricks,
As the radiant sun shines light into dark corners.
The window's sheen was lost,
By nine-teen sixty-six,
When the young possessed a much stronger voice.
A spray-painting boy sneaks by,
Without making a sound,
As the moon hides behind the opaque clouds.
Though he speaks not a word,
A new voice he has found,
As he spreads his message on the canvas-like wall.
A spray-painted man stands guard,
Without feet to stand on,
Yet you do not need feet to stand up for yourself.
Your voice can be quite piercing,
Without ears to land on,
So long as you mean what you show to the world.
