Fingertips trace the trees,
Grace the railings and the leaves.
The streets he walks are rain-slicked, grey,
Tempered in yellow lining leads
Deep into urban disease
Where beauty hides on cracking walls
Falls through the shallow sieves
Young hands the canvas sees,
Waits life to show its colors free
Come into veins he bleeds
Ok, so I know poetry is usually a single author kind of thing… But this one is a collaborative effort between my dear friend Chris Galford and I. He provided the main body of the work (subject matter, most of the phrasing, ect.), and I offered what I usually do, my quirky little rhyme scheme. I hope you all enjoy Chris’s (oops, I mean our) work.