He parks his sleeping bag on the dirty corner walks
His soul having been ravaged by life's stalks
torture running through his mind; to himself he talks
But no one looks his way
afraid of what they'll hear him say
afraid of the reality
afraid of what their eyes might see...
she wanders the darkened streets
painted, in her high heels, short skirt on
always searching the streets for her next John
But no one looks her way
afraid of what she might say
afraid of the reality
afraid of what their eyes might see...
He was absent from school again today
When he's there, there's not much he'll say
wearing long sleeves, keeping the bruises hidden away
But they look the other way
afraid of what he might say
afraid of the reality
afraid of what their eyes could see...
Maybe a smile, for a moment noticed
just a helpful hand, nothing promised
Could turn them towards the lives wished
but not many will look their way
afraid of what they might say
afraid of what could be their reality
afraid of the truth their eye's might see...
**This was a post for Friday Poetically which you can find over at One Stop Poetry. It's a black history month celebration, and Brian has provided us a beat to put words to. It sounded like so much fun, I couldn't pass it up.
Stunning images, love the rhythm with or without Brian's beat. Does well to tell the tale.
ReplyDeleteExtremely well crafted and rendered. I for one never turn from the ugly because it is there in the shit where the beauty and wisdom grows. This reminds me of a lotus blossom so full of promise at the start as it climbs through the murky swampy water. sometimes all it takes is a bit of a hand in the nature of light to make it rise. Well done Caty
ReplyDeleteBe Well
mark
very nicely done caty...love the repetition through ut...they stir and sit heavy on my chest as i read...great work.
ReplyDeleteyou have captured a sad reality well - really like it.
ReplyDeleteamazing how many different styles of poems this prompt has "born"