For Nameless, Nightmare, Neglect Words Poetry Contest of Constance La France
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“I cannot give a name to pain I’ve never known.” - by poet What do I know of sadness when it’s grief that is profound? The misery of wounded hearts - in anguish they are drowned. The mother – who downtrodden - sells her body to survive and put food on the table to keep her kids alive. The father who dutifully fights in a bloody war comes home with missing limbs and still dreams of gunfire’s roar. The child caught in that same war, who runs from an awful blast and sees her loved ones dying - a terror unsurpassed. What know I of losing everyone or everything in an earthquake or tsunami? What utter suffering. Of being someone snatched up from the street, then like a slave, be forced into defilement or thrown into a grave. Of being born into a family of abuse and no one has a clue. Kids like these cannot get loose. Of prisoners of war, of Jews packed like rats in dirty trains; of all slaves throughout history and souls now still in chains. I think of all the torture humanity’s gone through - unlucky folks whose fate would be that nothing could they do. Babies with serious defects with lives seeming aimless. . . Because I can’t know pain like this, for me, it all is nameless.
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