Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Feb 2015
Tongue cracked, bleeding lips,
throat sore, ragged lungs
the pain of screaming at the deaf,
the futility of all this wasted breath.

How many more have come before us,
only to beat themselves ******,
to break themselves against the wall of lies,
to surrender to the ones they despise.

Despair is their way of saying you already lost,
the agony is greater when you know the cost.
Its not for us or them or the world we live in
that I tried and failed, and a failure I'll die.

It is for the countless yet unborn,
who will come into this world
wearing the shackles
that we couldn't prevent them from fashioning.
It is for the world that we will leave behind,
and the babies that will look back on us
not with pride, or love, or deep respect,
but with sadness, disappointment and scorn.

For them I wish I was stronger.
Written by
Alan Black
Please log in to view and add comments on poems