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Somber Tears

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Below is the poem entitled Somber Tears which was written by poet Chris Boskovski. Please feel free to comment on this poem. However, please remember, PoetrySoup is a place of encouragement and growth.

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Somber Tears

As the sun sets
and the twilight comes out,
as the birds and squrriels are no where in sight.

As the whores and pimps sit on street corners,
waiting for street lights to turn from green to red.
As cadillacs stop and roll their windows down.

I can her the faint cry deep in the darkness,
of dirty gutters and dark, dead end alleyways,
I hear the faint tears fall and hit concrete pavement.

I feel the faint cries of whores,
I hear the sound of backhand hitting face
and brused tissue and broken noses are everywhere.

And the somber tears fall onto pillow cases,
and white motel bedsheets run red with blood
and cheap Italian wine.

And you can her the poet over the radio,
reading his own work for the one millionth time
and you can hear his soul slowly wanting to die.

He drowns himself in smoke and alcohol
the whore takes her pay, or spends a night in a jail cell,
the pimp nowhere to be found,
with a shiny blade stuck deep in his gut.

And the somber tears fall gently on the concrete pavement,
the floors of a jail cell,
tears on the pillow case and tears on a lonesome stage.

Tears never present, but are seen by many,
pain aches and pain takes away,
and I pour one more drink for the whore.

She takes me away,
and I caught her salty, somber tear,
and she crawled into my warm embrace.

I was the one who stuck the blade in the gut of that pimp,
who broke her nose and made her bleed,
with a cowardess and souless backhand.

I walk into the moonlight,
hearing the somber tears all around me,
crash violently to the concrete pavement.

The Earth rumbles and erupts with these tears,
that are shead for fellow Men, and Women and Children,
but we all look at ourselves and smile.

Happy we don't pay rent,
happy we don't have cancer,
happy we aren't six feet under;

But we still all cry,
Why?
Somber tears all fall in one big wave

crashing violently on the concrete pavement.
Now the red light turns green,
and the traffic moves along,
the whore is still at her corner,
the pimp still with the blade in his gut.

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  1. Date: 10/2/2013 7:54:00 AM
    stark reality from the gut, chris.. the way of the world needs some compassionate release, and this reeling work seems to beg for such... visceral!..:) huggs

  1. Date: 10/1/2013 3:27:00 PM
    - A deep   poem from your heart, very touching written Chris! - oxox // Anne-Lise :)

  1. Date: 9/30/2013 10:27:00 PM
    Chris. Is this payback for making you cry with my poems. I am more than crying, I am heartbroken. These words are profound and powerful. Truthful and very deep. You did a great job describing a sad subject. Nice job my friend.

  1. Date: 9/30/2013 4:08:00 PM
    And somber tears fall for sad realities.Profound thoughts penned here..Im glad i stopped by to read it.