My poetry often
Has blood on hands
Battered knuckles
Shifting sands
Criticised for saying
How it really is
Reality gripped
A poisoned tip.
Speaking often
Of the lonely
Those downtrodden
Forgotten only
Once the headlines
Fade from view
A discarded newspaper
Tv screen to view.
Lifes power shattered
Dreams and hopes
A battered boxer
On the ropes
Of lifes injustice
Punches, kicks
There are some things
Which cant be fixed.