Evening Stroll
And I let despair take a mean walk through a seedy neighborhood Where nothing good had ever frequented... Where staccato steps rang on the concrete The street hush with bated breath And the chiming of a broken swing set Still warm with children Holding on with sticky fingers before their mothers bid them inside Startled by sounds of gunfire And even further, where the sky glowed An ominous red And in the air echoed the soft strings of death And further still Where the floor was lava and the eyes that followed were no longer that of men And crawled finally, into the belly Of a fork-tongued beast At the end of it all, my despair Was no more