I regret that our land has lost its joy.
People live in misery,
Working without reward.
They receive lies as if they were food,
And survive on tears alone.
Power rests in the hands of rulers,
While the people remain blind and unheard.
Leaders speak of love,
Yet they write stories of pain.
They lead citizens toward suffering.
People dream of salvation
To end their difficult situation.
Truth is buried in silence,
And no one dares to comment.
Like oil that boils over,
Anger rises among the people.
Yet those in power seem heartless.
Rulers act like angels,
Always wanting to be first.
They rarely seek advice,
Though their speeches are full of mistakes.
People need warriors to confront the lions;
They seek saviors for the jungle.
Who will defend them from these troubles?
in the worst shape ever
my great Aunt Heather
usually under the weather
good thoughts? Never.
Resigned to gloom forever.
no joy and not clever.
Focuses on bad news and weather.
I am sorry for Aunt Heather.
Every lonesome heart
seeks that happiness
not easily found;
and however brief
and meaningless
it might be, somehow
it's the ultimate comfort
awaiting hope!
Searching within
the joyless heart
thorns may be found;
they may seem harmless,
but they are painful
and make one bleed!
Who has sought
instant gratification
and strangely awoken
to a delusional state
subdued by emotions,
they can inflame feelings!
Searching within
the joyless heart
is building another
mountain of disillusion;
if anyone could climb it
with a strategic plan,
it can be achieved!
Being stronger
prevents tears
and heartbreaks;
can one take
an inconceivable challenge
and be surprised
by an incredible victory?
Searching within
the joyless heart,
there's a hidden sweetness
that bitterness can't obliterate...
remembering cheerful
smiles of bygone ages!
Anchored boats
guarded in a harbor
are similar to hearts
being held by loving hands;
if one doubts faithfulness,
all efforts are to no vail!
The balloon has popped
Life's merry-go-round stopped
The 21st century's bubble burst
We got hit with the worst
Written perhaps in the stars
Else the scheme of a commissar
No one knows what's ahead
Already 800,000 dead
Now's the time to take stock
No turning back the clock
At the window, palms under my chin,
such beauty I see, out the frosted pane,
I was mesmerized, it showed in my grin,
so picture perfect, the snow covered lane.
My daydream was dashed, Mom called from the door,
"time to brave the cold and clear the sidewalk,"
grabbed my winter coat and boots from the floor,
I hate this chore, but knew not to back-talk.
"Don't slip on the ice, watch out for the plow,"
I hear, as orange shovel meets concrete,
shouldn't the county have this done by now?,
this takes all day, with snow piled up in feet.
Why freeze for allowance, I'll never know,
yet, I still find myself shoveling snow.
November 18th, 2014
Sara Kendrick's contest - "Jobs"
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