Thoughts on Born into Brothels
From my world swept over by gray and cream and beige
Watch a boy in a ghetto paint a different picture
Framed the way he wants
that captures the colors
In between each wrinkle of an eye
Sneaks in the sadness
Doesn't lie
Elegance is without domain
Veiled by his father's hash smoke screen
How does his Technicolor world look from red rimmed eyes?
Perhaps he is making duck calls
Hunting home the food that will save them
Muting the colors of all but textured mallard green
Missing the last of hope his son pours from a bucket
Into the sea
Where it may find a better home
He snaps a picture of it as it leaves him
And it is beautiful
Boring beige sand
With accents of bright exciting tshirts
of the people stepping
Across all oceans hope is beautiful
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