by Sean Hollick
How many are there, disturbed by it all
a thousand, ten thousand, one hundred thousand
watching, feeling, writing words that will never be read
compiling thoughts, desires, multitudes of unknown forgotten souls
fed up with disregard for domestic suffering
compelled by the hollow eyes of scantly clad men, women and children
generations of hunger, sickness, abuse, sheer despair
despondent attempts to rise from a vile, sad world.

Collective agony, denied relief, silent corrosion
scarcely able to maintain human dignity, terrified
scarred innocence, unlikely ever to mend, stumped, hurt
stumbling, crawling, crying out in pain and desperation
alone, scared, hopeless, forgotton and broken, yet alive
who will remember, the suffering, the poverty, the despair
who wants to remember, who cares about hungry children
I care, it disturbs me, but who am I, only one of thousands of young unknown poets.


Copyright © 1988 - 2018

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