Blistered hands, wounded knees.
Forever in the dark shall I roam.
Rows of stairs with the sharpest of edges,
Boards so narrow and thin as paper.
Eyes not adjusted, burning so much,
Shoes are a trap,
Shirts are on fire.
Babies wailing,
Sounds of begging.
Hands reaching out,
Cries scream for out.
Violins tune in for one last song,
As we weep for those lost in the quick sand.
Red lips can barely meet,
Soft hands become much rougher,
And the air turns against our lungs
When we wheeze as we breathe.
We struggle and fight to crawl our way out.
Coughing, sneezing,
We pray to those who can hear from above.
Blistered hands, wounded knees.
We always fight but are never clean.
Our hands so blistered,
Our lips so busted.
For eternity our fight continues,
As the choir sings and the angels weep.
They cry in our place, for we cannot no more.
For we lost too much,
Battling the hunger.
We stay within the line,
The line of order and sorrow.
YOU ARE READING
Poems
Poetry"The universe kissed the stars, who birthed a galaxy of new beginnings." The only way to express beautiful and cynical thoughts is through the delightful invention of simple, and yet complex, poetry. My poems never end, have no defined theme and st...
