where i grew up

The noxious fumes of weed that pass through the pleasant streets of where I used to call my home,

The loan drunk stumbling and crumbling as meanders down the straight yet  windy, streets of that once seemed all our own.

The shrieks and squalls of messed up mothers moving their irrepressible juvenile delinquents through the dirty streets that once stood so proud,

The impetuous exploits of the destitute druggies peddling their ill-gotten goods to the elderly and the poor through these streets that seem to be crumbling to the ground.

yet the streets still hold its same spirit of yesteryear if you look close. the chatting and ranting of the backcountry folk. its noise the sound its majesty will waiting to be found.