The Estate

Grimy dim street lights
Let shadows hang hapless
Over sprawling cold estate roads
Rats scurry between potholes and drain covers.

The estate where even bricks weep dirty rain
Over graffiti time spewed in splendorous graphic filth
Homes where real people no longer shudder
At neighbours screams or visiting night time cockroaches.

In groups, young, hooded lost souls drift the estate
Seeking violence on any that test their arrogance
Wispy curtains protect adults in the deafness of despair.
Just children they say whilst they pray none are theirs.

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