In hunger's bloat and nagging pain,
the tropic heat and burning rain,
in sight of all the world that cries,
where hope is dead or soon it dies,
their fight is for an ounce of grain.
Death takes the innocents it finds,
and leaves a blanking of the minds,
they dare not love for love is dead,
deep in their hearts they cry instead,
but these are tears of other kinds.
All empty tears, and shackled by
what hope there is; it's but to die;
before another bloody dawn,
and forced to know that life goes on,
beyond the reasoning of why.
© ron wilson aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet
Copyright © Vee Bdosa | Year Posted 2017
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