This poem was inspired by Killah Priest's Mystic City.
Everytime I take a journey to my city,
my hearts fills up with massive pity.
I've often wondered what our world is coming to,
when I see every street and corner filled up drug addicts and prostitutes.
On every corner, there's a drug dealer,
capitalizing the weak minds of the average Peter,
like Grim the Reaper.
Homeless people walk the streets,
looking and hoping for something to eat.
Evertime I stop and talk to them,
they give me sad expressions
that they have no money.
Whenever I have some, I give them some
because like them, I could have been a bum.
It hurts to see,
once-beautiful black ladies,
selling their precious bodies.
and they don't care,
if it's Mike, Charles, or Blair.
The crack has consumed their bodies and dissolved them like cotton candy.
Now their vulnerable and opened to anybody.
I see a lot of black women in my city stuck on welfare too.
They're trapped in it and stuck like glue.
if they apply themselves more accordingly,
they won't have to worry,
about being trapped in the spider of our society.
Life is what you make it.
And if you don't take any opportunities, chances, or risks,
you'll be telling yourself, "what if?"
Because of this,
my city is filled with heavy bliss.
Sadly, it seems that my city,
will always be,
a fallen city.