The Lost Ones

Angels sit on their invisibleperches, huddled togetherlike pigeons on a coldwinter night, and watch.

Suffering surrounds them atevery turn, yet all they dois watch.

Where is the beauty in suffering?Why does Mercy hide her face from us?

The Angels watch as the century-oldiron rods swell, breaking theirconcrete encasement. Cracks runacross the once sturdy architecture.

These walls and the floors become moist.Just breathing takes a Herculeaneffort.

Where are you, Mercy?

Do you hate us because we’ve mademistakes?

Are we not the roses that grew from theconcrete, like Tupac Shakur spoke of?

It’s hard to breathe.

Brackish water fills my sink basin.

Lead and rust surround my cage ofconcrete and metal. I can tastetheir poison in my ramen noodles,I can feel their metallic particles on my skin.

It’s hard to breathe.

Calls for help fall on deaf ears, asthe Angels sit on their invisible perches,huddled together like pigeonson a cold winter night,and watch.