Grey street corner
A frozen room
Lonely bed
A dying moon
Litter swept streets
And templed stars
Blurred rising sun
Hits burnt out cars.
Hate scrawled text
On bricked in walls
From cancered branch
A last leaf falls
The knife drawn streets
Barred with shops,
The downward wound
That never stops.
A Frostbitten tree
A pock marked road.
First morning truck
With a heavy load.
Gun ruled streets
Of bricks and knives
Discarded dreams
And shattered lives.
A world of pain
A world of snow
Nowhere to leave
No place to go
With no hope
To a world forlorn
No route to life
A child is born
I really enjoyed reading this awsome poem by you It is so nice, how simple your words drew a picture in my mind I saw what you saw Your words were very effective
I really enjoyed reading this awsome poem by you It is so nice, how simple your words drew a picture in my mind I saw what you saw Your words were very effective
Beautiful poem! ! This reads like a litany of physical conditions that all carry emotional energy. In the end all of these images converge to a single point in the hope, against all the odds, that attends a human birth.
This poem is quite well-written, you have a true gift, hold onto it and don't forget it.
Your wording is fresh and very effective i am enjoying your work
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
All pervasive loneliness that goes bone deep, and yet a child is born, so what life happens behind thos pock marked walls?