Bruised by life one picks one's battered self up
Prepares to carry on, into the next belligerence
And stoically turns to face the world
With all its beauty, and yet too, horror and indifference.

We are but a small black, or pink, or brown thing upon our arrival here
Those luckier ones amongst us will be cared for and loved so well
And yet still there are those whose lives are to be filled with pain
From that very first beautiful breath and yet fearful chest swell.

And as we grow to take on life's burden of knowledge
Some of us will fall along the way into deprivation
Taking scraps as they are given, to sustain life
It shouldn't happen in a so-called modern civilisation.

It falls to those more fortunate to work to end the crisis
But sadly, money talks so well and creates and causes such corruption
And those with nothing have found their voice and even now fight back
If answers aren't found quickly I fear, I anticipate eruption.



©Joe Wilson - Crisis point... 2014