All times we hope to sleep in our hands.
Alas! This hope - sometimes - become so free
like drops of rain that falls between sare sands
and quenches into steam we never see.
I see echoes of pain on many tongues.
The echoes run reversed; more time - more pitch.
The parents, children, humming quasi-songs
of this one dirge: "why make Earth's belly rich?!"
But dawn will surely spark behind midnight
and thousand ills shall scamper to their death.
And the just king shall - on us - shine his light
to give a testament to all with breath
that: so long this just king resides up high,
these hopes, like steam-drops, will rise to the sky!
-
Author:
Aiyejinna Abraham O. (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: October 28th, 2020 18:15
- Comment from author about the poem: When writing this poem, I could see how the poor\\\'s hopes of being alive and safe has been tampered with by the wealthy. And how the poor are left to die and writhe in lament. Well, this poem tries to remind them (the poor) that as long as God lives, their hopes will surely rise one day be it on earth or after earth. And they\\\'ll be alive and safe. It\\\'s a Shakespearean sonnet form.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 20
Offline)
Comments3
The hopes of many people will come to them as their beliefs take them to that place of light.
Welcome to MPS.
Thank you. I'm glad to be here
"It's the same the whole world over
It's the poor what gets the blame
It's the rich what gets the pleasure
Ain't it all a bloomin' shame?"
-A contribution from my rich cultural tradition to you!!
Regards Dave
Thank you. Mr. Dave.
Hi
I'm just 'Dave', no 'Mr'. How might I address you?
Regards Dave
3 more comments
Good write A.
Thank you. Orchidee
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