deepundergroundpoetry.com
KNOCK ON THE DOOR
Boats overflowing
with refugees,
human cargo contained
on the open seas,
escaping from what
we see on TV,
headed for the so
called land of the free.
Borders guarded
by boats on patrol,
an invisible line that
only maps show,
turning pleading
people around,
defending the nations’
territorial ground.
Sitting in comfort
it’s easy to say,
“We don’t want ‘em,
turn ‘em all away,”
Terra Nullius
exists no more,
now you have to
knock on the door.
As mother and child
sit wet and cold,
nothing else left
but each others hold,
can you imagine
the utter despair,
when our government
says we don’t care.
Morganpoet
with refugees,
human cargo contained
on the open seas,
escaping from what
we see on TV,
headed for the so
called land of the free.
Borders guarded
by boats on patrol,
an invisible line that
only maps show,
turning pleading
people around,
defending the nations’
territorial ground.
Sitting in comfort
it’s easy to say,
“We don’t want ‘em,
turn ‘em all away,”
Terra Nullius
exists no more,
now you have to
knock on the door.
As mother and child
sit wet and cold,
nothing else left
but each others hold,
can you imagine
the utter despair,
when our government
says we don’t care.
Morganpoet
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