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Cleveland Lullaby

by Rory Patrick about a year ago in sad poetry
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Beauty amongst the decay

I say, “good morning” to the soaking bloody streets

A sliver of sun winks behind the clouds still full of sleep

Heartache rains down upon her as it does inside of me

Cleveland may be a joke, it to me she’s everything

With her, I’ve bled, I’ve cried

Been held at gun point, arrested and nearly died

A couple dozen times

Just her and I

Dark, dreary Cleveland lullaby

It’s so hard for me to live outside my head

Sometimes I wish this city would wrap me in her arms

And take me with her to her depths

The desolation of this old town is so beautiful

It makes me lose my breath

Just like me, this place will never change

On a downward spiral, circumstance is what we blame

As we try in vain to hide the pain

Just her and I

Sweet, sorrowful Cleveland lullaby

Lake Erie, she flows inside my veins

She’s notoriously dirty, but my blood is just the same

The sun sets behind her, as the lights dim inside my brain

Beauty trapped in silence

Encased within the freezing waves

As kindred spirits, we weep together as one

We hold the pain much more than some

The lucky few, aloof to the darkening view

Just her and I

Frozen, heartbroken Cleveland lullaby

Down below, I hear the shouts amongst the screams

Sporadic gunshots, sirens wailing constantly

I believe the sounds are meant, only just for me to see

This city and I will never let ourselves be

We run away, as if our scars won’t show

We try to fly away swiftly

The same as a Nor’easter blows

In her puddles, dead dreams float

Still it’s just her and I

Soul stealing, Cleveland lullaby

A solitary lamp illuminates a circle on a nearly blacked out street

It seems the perfect place for us heathens to meet

A sudden stillness in the air

Belies the foreboding tension we’ve yet to greet

So I say, “goodnight” to these invisible tarnished golden streets

Abandoned buildings, burned out house and struggle

Instead is all I see

The violence in these streets

Is befitting of her history

Nothing here can save her life

Blood sheds as easily as the tears we cry

Sweet love of my life

Dearly beloved, Cleveland lullaby

sad poetry

About the author

Rory Patrick

Writes poetry, songs, prose, essays. Depression, addiction and struggle being main influence.Musician, guitar, mandolin, ukulele and piano .History & literature lover(Emerson, Camus, Kafka) Leukemia survivor. Recovering heroin addict

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