FUN, MAD, AND JUST PLAIN SILLY Poetry

Whipping Boy (T is for Thoughtful)

Render my eyes

Still my tongue

Mute my ears

Then call my name

Make stone my heart

And reeds my limbs

Cut of my breath

That I might live

Shout out at me

And call me names

Beat me with

Your sticks and flames

Whip me till

Your throat is dry

Or until I make you cry

For that's my role

Yes that my lot

A whipping boy

Despised and lost

Vent out your hate

Spend it on me

That others may

Your true heart to see

For I have no job

Or I am poor

I have no hope

Nor home that's sure

I could be black

I could be white

I wander alone

In your nations sight

Yet here I am

I do exist

A whipping boy

For rich capitalists.