Sad old men
With liquid eyes
Happy to watch
The world go by
Ignoring injustice
In their world
Painting little pictures
In pretty words.
Where are you when
The axe it falls
Upon unworthiness
And help is called ?
Snug within
The quaint four walls
Dreaming that
Youre a poet.
The torture and grief
In frozen eyes
The blood that runs
From political lies
The hungry people
In a land thats rich
Painting little pictures
Your pen to twitch.
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Author:
nephilim56 ( Norman Dickson) (
Offline) - Published: August 21st, 2025 01:39
- Comment from author about the poem: An old poem which was written in response to criticism that I often wrote about subjects which shouldnt be mentioned because they were cold cruel and TRUE. The person who criticised me knocked up a few words filled with sugar and was blinded to lifes injustices.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 22
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett, RSM0812
Offline)
Comments3
This poem can be taken in a couple of ways. I took it first as a poets self recrimination at using just words to deal with life's problems but then I read the author's note and can see that certain poets hide behind sweet and sugary topics and words covering life's ugliness. Well done and a fave
spot on, appreciated and thanks
You are most welcome
Ink can wound
Or ink can hide
Let's choose the page
Where truth won’t die!
many thanks
Most welcome 🙏🏻🕊️
This was very interesting on many scapes. Great choice of words and good rhyme. I really enjoyed the write.
appreciated, many thanks
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