It is not a contrasting white on black or vice versa

It is not the achromatic absence of light

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I street Sweeper, I could you tell you my dreams! While I sweep, sweep clean all the alleys and bins, When I sing, sing songs of the cars and the clothes, That maybe one day, would give me a face and a name.   I street sweeper, I move, move because I am invisible, I know, know because I have no voice, I am allowed to see, see because I am blind, This is why I am trusted with the secrets of this city.   I street sweeper, Have a kanga for the naked and mad, Pick up the wrappers and packs, Of a population of people who have no time for people, Who are without face, without name!   I street sweeper, Take whatever scraps remain, Make a home of whatever is strong, And a meal at the brink of rot, A song of the city dwellers.   I street...
©AmarePoeta 2014
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