Help Me
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When is a question not a question? It is when it is no longer asked; but is a plea for help, and when hope for an answer is daunting. This poem gives voice to the cries of victims of Human Trafficking and is a hope within my heart that the wars declared upon it will be moved by the voice of their silent cries. The one gift in the caring heart of a poet is to express the realities of one’s joys, or miseries, whether they belong to to himself or to hearts of those in this world.
HELP ME
Her desperate cries, his cries despised,
carried away by an inward wind.
Lost girl, lost boy, souls now captured,
in a fraction of a minute, to no end.
New hostage home, all hope is gone,
Haven of a new self hatred.
Can’t even imagine a day of rescue,
Shame, the new hidden world matrix.
The pleading the coaxing, Malefic one coaching,
Evidences confirmed, yet sealed.
The balance of justice encroaching.
Faded hope that dreams of rescue will ever be real.
Help me
Copyright © Lovie Divine | Year Posted 2020
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