Stepladders Poem by RoseAnn V. Shawiak

Standing back, gazing at a sphere of life, turning and
twisting, searching for a space to belong, all people
seek and never find one.

Lowering eyes, afraid to look about, feeling shame and
guilt.

Building stepladders to try and rise above it in tight
child-like minds.

There are so many facets of life yet to live, but they
have all been bunched up, crumpled, thrown in a corner
when extremely young.

Sun doesn't shine, nor does wind blow when hidden
beneath the earth down a long, dark tunnel.

No air to breathe or flowers to smell, just sickening
odors to make your stomach turn.

There's no toys or play here, just the loss of child-
hood, under the world as in a grave.

Death has always surrounded, covered beneath the earth,
where men who are supposed to protect, instead maim
and disrespectfully take life uncaringly from children.

Where is life or happiness in a world of sadness,
darkness, shame?