“Don’t Enter”

In the hood, the street signs speak louder than sirens,
Red octagons bleeding warnings on cracked concrete,

"Don't Enter" etched in steel, but deeper in spirit—
a message not just for cars, but hearts trying to leave.

Chain-link fences frame stories no museum will hang,
graffiti whispers names of those who vanished in the night.

Corners preach sermons in cigarette ash and broken glass,
while stop signs sag, tired from stopping too much pain.

Here, every sign is a prayer or a prophecy,
and your lens caught the truth—sometimes the streets
say "Don’t Enter" not to keep you out,
but to keep the hood from swallowing one more dream.