Inner Cities

by Hannah Messinger (December 2014)

I realized that I had always been a spiritual being,

Letting the earth keep me tongue tied,

Holding my breath as I prayed in my head

Ink blotted, oak dusted skin

And that faith has always been somewhat of

I always knew there was so much we are blind to and

I let the stars do the thinking for me,

Sending my best wishes to the

Sky.

But I let it dampen out until it was nothing more than

A pattering of rain,

A dull throb against the noisy backdrop

Of my sick inner cities,

Nothing more than a silent pulse through my hidden veins.

 

________________________

Hannah Messinger is a writer living in Florida. Her website is The Interlude.

 

To comment on this poem, please click here.

To help New English Review continue to publish original stories such as this, please click here.

If you have enjoyed this poem and want to read more by Hannah Messinger, please click here.