Between The Cracks

In systems complex,

A function unaccustomed,

Between the tall spires

Of civilized estates,

Wander weary children

Unburdened by order,

Creeping through the cracks

For scraps of a niche.

Workers and worriers

Consigned to commission

Could scarcely fathom

Such anarchic fashions.

Scouring the cities

For profits and pleasure

In whatever scarce amounts

Their subtleties can acquire.

These unguided forces,

So volatile and so reckless,

Surviving as a single self

Amid so many societal tempests.

Uninhibited by customs

But restrained by necessities,

Hunger, stress, and heartbreak

Without a remedy or a compass.

Unlost without direction

And unashamed without justice,

The wisdom of disorder

In nature’s law is too apparent.

Live on or die,

Obtain or go without,

Learn quickly or be snuffed

Like a candle blown out.

So the builders and planners

Imposing straight lines and roads

Offer little but questions

For these wanderers to pose.

“Who are you helping?

Can disorder be owned?”

Calling from the cracks

And splinters in the road.

“Enforcements must be vain,

For surely you must see

Nothing can be owned

And everything is free!”

 

 

 

 

 

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