Stay hungry

Demond Blake

Stay hungry

 

The streets
Are a young man’s
Game
They
Say

But even the
Young break
Down, crumple
Little left
But rubble

We’re not
What we
Were

Little of
What we
Thought
We’d be

Our blood’s
Thinning as
Humanity
Marches
On

There are
Some out
There
Crazy eyed
Drunk
Burning
At both
Ends

Lightening in
Their hands

I bump into
Them here
And there
It’s always
Brief

Always in
Passing
They could
Repaint the
Sistine chapel
Or become
The new
Murderers
Of our age

It’s a toss
Up to me
And to
Them

They don’t know
If they want
To inherit
The earth or
Simply tear
It apart

Given time
They might
Figure it
Out

given

time