PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Vacantly,

I'd begin to touch your sienna eyes-

As you stuttered, no.

The concepts,

In your mind must have fluttered-

Right on by, when my blood went cold.

Regrettably,

You've seen the passion that once laid-

In these brittle bones.

Welts that made them proud,

Well, there's no more swells in your brow-

That need showing off.

You're torn down by it all.

Yet my fingers you shall hold.

Where's your innocent relief?

You're barely 10, but you can see-

I'm worn down.

A child cannot die-

If his faith is still alive.

Though he possesses all these damages-

There's love behind the bandages.

We sing out the melodies-

Battered children need a remedy.

The subtle dread that filling him-

Is a norm that never ends.

Unfortunately,

I have seen enough to realize.

That the whimpering of my fellow man-

Is a sign that this will come again.

I'm worn down by it all.

I'm torn down by it all.

Take my worry my soul-

Take my systematic woes.

I'm toned down.

Ladled with your sin,

These young faces are rusted in crimson.

I'm worn down.