Gently cries the child
Into the night
Listening for that soothing voice
Just a loves throw away
But mum’s not listening
Mum’s overdosed
Sinking deeper into a toxic haze
Eventually dying with the needle pointing heaven bound
Gently cries the child
Into the night
Listening for that soothing voice
Just a loves throw away
Mummy’s calling to you
Not be long now precious
Not be long.
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Author:
Paul Bell (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: November 23rd, 2021 05:29
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 20
- Users favorite of this poem: L. B. Mek, spilleronsheet
Offline)
Comments4
while 'We', fortunate majority
run around, lamenting our fate's-
such horrific details, make-up
the everyday reality
for the Truly, ill-fated: abundant minority...
(a Great write, thank you
for giving voice, to the desperate
and awarding us
a little, respite
from our endless existence
of wilful ignorance;
assumed indifference, as a necessity
to surviving, the horrors of our reality)
Yes, we are the lucky ones, right enough.
This resonates quite a bit for me. Isn't childhood just the best?
I enjoyed the read Paul, thanks for posting. Best regards.
Well we sure are born privileged
Such stories surround
Surround as nightmare
The society holds such tragedies draped in black
Thanks dear Poet
For showing the mirror
We, in our cosy lives forget the dark sides
Life at the dreg ends with only one ending.
Sure it does
It's visual art in words. Motion picture even. Brilliant, Paul. Absolutely brilliant sir!
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