“streetlight uprising”
broken glass morning,
sirens chewing the edges of the block,
someone yelling run though no one moves,
a kid kicking a dented can like it owes him a future.
I catch a phrase on a peeling flyer:
“don’t wait for the sky to open itself”
and it hits like a shove between the ribs.
traffic lights blink their warnings,
a bus exhales smoke like a tired prophet,
and every passerby looks wired to burst—
not from fear, but from the pressure of wanting more
than this cracked‑pavement destiny.
a girl with chipped nail polish
shouts into the wind:
“if they won’t listen, make them feel it”
and the street seems to vibrate with her.
someone slams a door,
someone else laughs too loud,
and suddenly the whole block feels like
it’s about to leap out of its own skin—
a raw, rising surge,
a dare,
a spark catching on the edge of the hour.
and in that moment,
every heartbeat around me
sounds like a rallying cry
trying to break free of the throat.
.
-
Author:
crypticbard (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: May 21st, 2026 05:33
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 4
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett
- In collections: musically fit.
Offline)
Comments3
much enjoyed the read my friend
Most grateful dear Norman🙏🕊️
most welcome
As a small piece of what surrounds us we are moved by it. Social behavior is often ignited by a small spark where one voice can make a difference. We are drifting in strong tides and currents often invisible to the eye but felt and carried along with them to places we never imagined. A lovely write my friend and a fave
Who gets to be the voice! We are a strange specie 🙏🕊️
Yes each of us has a voice and a responsibility to speak it.
Excellent read, great detail.
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