Twisted vines, morbid minds.

I'm starting to learn something sharp. 
Like a blade it brings feelings so new and it's burning.
People don't act, think like they say they do.
I once thought all these souls were learning.

Pale faces, dark places linger above the concrete.
Transparent like ghosts through a crowd.
Heartbreak and ache only secretes 
To haunt the streets with cries so loud.

As they stride and they speak of the lives that they lead
They try to fill all the spaces
It's built up of hatred, of lies and their greed.
But that you can read on their faces.

Ink of every color clings to the brick and broken stone
Stories told by picture fill up the back alley ways
Behind the snow they lay hidden so cold, and left alone.
It's crying silenced by thin ice until the warmer days.

The doors aren't open for the ones who own no home
How must it feel to desperately depend on you and me
With cups hoped to fill up with coin on streets they're left to roam.
In out eye corners see but like tree vines it's all deeper than it seems.

Reviews

[Droll Prole]

This is a beautiful poem, well written, good job!