Little child,Mother calls For Your behind- by numbersAnd time callThe rhythm of you.Divine cry, Little child.Sleep yourself aloneAnd die. tonight I Held you closeWith all my passion,My dignity, my soul I throwTo the birds. Like stone,She crosses through meLike everything I knew-Over. And over again, yourAggressive nature Consumes me.Little child, little scarsAnd beaten bruises,You are not here To soothe me.I am not little, Can't you see? Someone wish care for me,Love me,And leave the child StillMirrored in me.I desire, Please.
It sure does, same flow...great job with this one, dear.
For me, this is the the hook, the breath-stopper:
"...My dignity, my soul I throw
To the birds. Like stone,
She crosses through me
Like everything I knew-
Over. And over again, your
Aggressive nature
Consumes me..."
A people’s heart can be found in their poetic words. In history men and women have stood firmly upon their soapboxes and street corners, rallying the deepest beliefs of people to rise up and be heard. The poetrypages.com has offered that voice a new
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The poems in this beautifully bound book are a result of over twenty years of observations. Observations of the world around us and on the telecommunications network. All of the hate, love, heroism, disasters, and those who help.
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For me, this is the the hook, the breath-stopper:
"...My dignity, my soul I throw
To the birds. Like stone,
She crosses through me
Like everything I knew-
Over. And over again, your
Aggressive nature
Consumes me..."
A treasure!