deepundergroundpoetry.com
A Salvation or an Army
I have to fight my way through,
Have to see their sorry bitter faces.
They're shaking their stick down low,
And beating me, with a shoe and its laces.
And I'm asking, why? What? When? Wherefore?
It's not what they hear, not what they take,
When they hear me beg for help and support,
they think it's because hell has told me there's nothing left to give
I should leave this sorry town,
Take my clothes to the north and just run
Far from the mad crowd and this frown,
And use my time to be different, another someone
But it's cold up there and rain is hard to take
And my heart is heavy to the point of weighing down
Water thicker than blood runs from my eyes,
And collects to leave a slippy patch on the floor
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Published 12th Jan 2010
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