PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I was raised beneath a wandering sky,

Where roads ran long and dreams rode high.

Mama wore kindness like a crown,

Though strangers often looked us down.

We carried music, hope, and grace,

Yet judgment followed place to place.

They whispered names behind our backs,

As if our worth lay in what we lacked.

They wore their Sunday clothes so fine,

While hiding secrets behind each smile.

They preached of love from polished pews,

Then turned away from worn-out shoes.

I've seen honest hearts in tattered sleeves,

And wealthy hands that belonged to thieves.

I've learned that gold can hide decay,

And pretty words can lead astray.

So let them talk, let rumors fly,

I'll never hang my head or cry.

My roots may wander, wild and free,

But no one's judgment defines me.

I wouldn't trade my dusty road

For all the wealth their houses hold.

For kindness never needs a throne,

And truth can stand on its own.

So here's to those who don't belong,

Who find their courage in a song.

The world may never understand,

But beauty grows in untamed land.

Good folks, bad manners, righteous pride,

So much hypocrisy tucked inside.

And when the final curtain falls,

Who really was the thief of all?

Not those who wandered without a home,

But those who judged what they'd never known.

— Misty Eyes