robert john bayoneta
'The Poor Man's Cry' - Poem by robert john bayoneta
O fetters of life let us go
from this bondage and stripes we groan,
for this grate of iron kept us cold,
under the sun and oppressors the skin we toast.
How many seasons of drought we need to take
for our aching bellies that cannot wait.
Every night time the bed is our grave,
only in the hands of faith is our life we laid.
Scarcity filled our eyes so dim
and we look up unto the sky whining.
The stars of our life are beyond of reach,
we are just a dreamer in the universe we live.
Lonely songs of life always echoes in our lips,
with tears in our eyes we go to sleep.
Though we have a rest in our every night,
but we have a good night sleep bruised in a fight.
Where is he who has all hope in his mouth,
with sweet promises in every line he shout.
We're being left alone as yesterdays does,
like dogs eating leftovers in the street of mud.
Poet's Notes about The Poem
Comments about 'The Poor Man's Cry' by robert john bayoneta
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You