A Samaritan Passes
Every day they call me,
The battered, the shattered
And the sat upon
The smothered, overly mothered
And the sat upon
The neglected, rejected
The undetected undirected
And the shat upon
The tattered, scattered ratted on.
Every day I hear them call out,
As they weep or shout or bawl out
Their tales of, “Wo! I’ve had enough!
Let the poisons do their stuff.”
Every day I take the call
Listening for something small
Some flotsam in the swollen river
That might allow me to deliver
A faint glimmer of some hope,
Turn the noose into a rope
To pull them to the shore.
But every day when the calls have ended
And the hands of help, extended,
Are inevitably pulled away,
I am mostly left uncertain
As to whether the final curtain
Has been stayed for another day.
Until at last, worn out,
My own heart torn out
And my own fears borne out
I call out my tale of, “Wo! I’ve heard enough”
© Barry Freeman - 10th May 2021
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