You can't Streep poverty under the carpet... - NaPoWriMo Day 9
A silence fell upon the city,
contorted shadows twisting moonlight.
Stuttering in a speakeasy seemed so misplaced
bottles rattled flickering like Fedora feathers
in an unforgiving wind.
The wretched odour of deprivation
a stench that sticks and degrades ones existence.
Even by day this city remains a lifeless sap
and by night the vampires feast on their misery
with fangs laced with cowardly acceptance.
The witch may be dead,
but her minions have amassed an army.
Fill the streets with peasants, proles, and protesters.
Are you ready for war?