Nameless
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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.
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2023
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