Bah Momodoup Poet Classicism

Porter In the Street

He wake up early in the morning
Never rest till evening
Because he never promise tomorrow 
As his chance were narrow
Putting on his torn clothes
And mended his only shoes 
Sometimes no breakfast
He have to move fast 
With his wheelbarrow 
Taking people's luggage to their destination, if he is allow
To make ends meal 
Is the deal 
Walking down the street
In the heat 
Delivering goods like an arrow 
Any goods he follow
Living in wallow 
Walking down the hollow 
Nobody bothers 
If his brothers 
Walking at hill 
In order pay his bill 
The landload threating him 
Nobody lend him 
Money to pay rent 
But he is always gent

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Ovidiu Bocsa February 28, 2016 at 10:14 AM Sometimes, no breakfast, I also,remember the past, I jumped over the table, I jumped over my stable. Running fast to catch myself, In the far Promised Land. Now, round about is sand... But you are man, I-just an elf, Reading a poem of despair. Joy and sorrow come in pair. Bah Momodoup March 1, 2016 at 1:06 PM thank you for your comment