Our politicians of the 21st Century
Lack Insight
The nature of true graft
The hardship
Our hands have Laboured
Of love for our community
Together
We were once United in Diversity
Our Generations of families
Built this country
With a calibre of Passion and Poetry
Inspirational Integrity
Kindness our Philosophy
And prominent legends
Have left , and gone is their Legacy
Of Great and Wonderous Inventions
Birth and pain
Our thoughts born
Belonging to teachers of historical leadership
Now, lost and forgotten
Thrown away , a thesis of copy and paste PHDs
Wasted are the words
Buried secrets
In Sediment of soils
Earth, her history
Ignored
For War and Victory
A 21st Century Political Legacy
an empty bottle in my hand look what ive become
addicted to feeling this way my lonely addiction has won
not yet day light and i still look for more
searching endlessly for lost money, gazing at the floor
to buy me what i need because that is all that matters
drink has took over me my life is now in shatters
still i cant fight it, its all that is on my mind
this is now my life, looking until i find
i end up sitting in the gutter smelling rotten on my own
i wish someone could fix me and take me to place called home
but i am just a shadow in the darkest clouds who the kids like to tease
they laugh when they see me staggering, falling to my knees
in my head is numbness all the pain is blocked out
but when im sober it trys to crawl back in and im scared without a doubt
look what i have thrown away, a family a job a home
now its just me and my drink, walking the streets alone
maybe one day ill wake up and it may all be a dream
but for now all i can do is carry on, searching for what i need
Some homeless began as precious sons and daughters;
loved ones gone astray, others thrown away; a high
price to pay.
Left alone to survive; hard lessons to learn; no choice
they say.
We see them every day; holding up signs on street corners;
present are babies with red leather faces; stolen innocence;
learning their trade; another generation to fade.
The wait outside gas stations, grocery stores, convenience
stores, and fast food places; begging for a dollar.
They are the ones in dark corners; taking drugs to dull their
pain; no refrain; selling their bodies for the price of a bed;
nothing more to be said.
We see them in doorways, under bridges, cardboard boxes
and public parks; no room at the shelter; some prefer outside;
paranoia on the rise.
They wander day after day, passing the time away. With dirty
clothes and bowed heads, they pass us, purposely avoiding
that look in our eyes.
We donate to all sorts of causes, but won't stop to give a
homeless man water.
Who knows what caused them to live this way. Does it really
matter?
There are many who help; do all they can, but so much more
is needed to help our fellow man.
As though someone has thrown away a dark net
and the town has become a trout in the net;
as though no morning has ever approached here,
the town has submerged in overflowing darkness.
The town is, as it were, the island of a fairy tale.
I wonder who are, like the giants, snatching away
the tip on the forehead of a teen girl,
then devour the bone-marrow in rapture.
I wonder who finally by tearing up the civilization
are eating up its bones and flesh.
Didn't ever a single pir* or saint come
in this darkness here?
If so, you, the poet, take up the charge
and play the guitar of light in the darkness.
* a Muslim religious leader
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