poetry, Uncategorized
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Sleepless Burdens

Homeless man shaking a cup

Can you imagine he was someone’s dream once?

We’ve made a wasteland and call it peace,

We’re malnutrition, but yet we feast,

Keep on ice the bodies of the unclaimed deceased

And remains in hushed increase

By you and I,

So they stack them four tombs high.

Unidentified.

Budget cuts.

Children left to die.

And they were someone’s dream once.

We cut corners and call it tact

We leach media and call it fact-

Concrete and don’t turn back.

And that homeless man shaking his cup,

You’ve just learned not to look at.

And those badlands are blinked as the beacon of “freedom.”

& So people don’t dream anymore.

They look and see cash on the shirts on their backs

Sloth made simple

And you slip through the crack

Like a penny stepped on my single-soled

Pride & the secrets they keep of those who’ve

Suffered and sighed.

But go buy a new dress because you’re slight of hand

Of the Maker’s of a collapsing land threaded

Together that tapestry of life,

What is the imagination without substance and strife?

The youth are left to cope with their own ignorance

Sucking out of plastic green straws

Bitten at the tip like its unabashed bylaws.

And we can’t expect them to save us,

Let alone care.

Because it was our eight months that put them there….

& I doubt they’ll even dream once….

 

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