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: 1
Offline)
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