City by Aaron Flynn

City

Muddy serpent writhes, cloud-
dappled light spangling from the squalls,
entangling
with manmade acrid clouds
acting as shrouds for the spite,
for the right to exist,
to subsist ,whilst people
suffer (or excel) and everything
between: a prism of humanity
where purple are the battered masses,
yellow the chosen few who succeed
at everything they do.
And we?
We are the crimson, the sapphire,
the emerald and the fuchsia riptide.
We are the in-betweeners, the
down-and-outers.
We are the forgotten.