Roses are red and violets are blue,
But nothing in this world could take me from you,
Down in the slum for most of our lives you took us by the hand and painted away,
Built off struggle from passion you lost and I gained.
It seems so unreal; how your here, but yet so far,
I can touch you with my hand, but I can't touch you with my soul,
I can speak to you with my mouth, but not with my heart.
Who can raise half of you?
No one and that's the truth.
That's why I'm grateful;
Though my actions may speak otherwise.
Deep down inside my body where my soul resides,
Is a little boy wrapped in a blanket waiting for his mother to come home.
And until she does he shall keep a straight face just like she taught him.
Because her eyes are red, but they used to be blue.
YOU ARE READING
Unheard: They Hear Me, But They Not Listening
PoetryExcuse me, can I grab your eyes and thoughts? As you gaze upon these poetic prayers of this silent village boy. Understand that his outside is sideways and flipped upside down all in one. Scream loudly if you can, but I guarantee the village boy has...
