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 Dec 2017 Tricia Ong
Amelia
I felt like a doll,
emotionless and all.

I was able to move and talk and think but,
I'm not there, not really.

I looked out of the window and watched the people on the streets.

Some looking happy and excited,
whereas some looked bleak.

I felt like a layer of glass was
seperating me from the world.

It was hard to explain but what I wanted to do was for someone to help me.

They'd ask me if I was okay and I would look at them and say, "No. Not really."

But I know they'd flinch away from the fact and silently roll their eyes,

That I was another lying person,
Who would fake a smile but have problems for miles.

This time, however, it's a little different.
For I'm the person who helped others who fell,
When I'm the one who needed saving most of all.
There is a spot
atop a hill
beneath an old shade tree.
It is the place my parents rest
and thus is dear to me.

It is a pleasant spot they chose,
now blanketed in snow.
I place my wreath and give a thought
to a Christmas long ago.

That Christmas Eve my father brought
a tree that filled the room.
My brother worked to fix the lights.
The girls sang Christmas tunes.

Atop the tree an ornament
A star that shone like gold.
Reminder of the miracle
of Christmas long ago.

The house is gone
and they have gone
The youngest has grown old.
Still I recall my sisters song
and that star that shone like gold.
1959 remembered
I Don't Like Guns...But

they make my husband feel
like a man and help him bond
with our sons.  

I don't like them or how he
describes the way they feel in
his hand:  "Better than a ***",  
I heard him confide to his pal, Joey...

but something has to protect  us.  
I mean it's our right to be on guard.  
It's our right.

My husband spends all his
time with his guns:  cleaning them,
polishing the barrels, studying their
details.  And talking...talking about
his gun rights, about his next NRA
meeting or  what happened at the
last or that he can't believe how
good the right gun in his hand feels.  

I don't like guns...they made me                   disappear.


Written for GUNS DON'T SAVE PEOPLE POETS DO:  DUELING WITH WORDS TO STOP GUN VIOLENCE. ..a Facebook group
 Dec 2017 Tricia Ong
Valsa George
Marooned in the island of loneliness
Shadows of delusion confront her
In a stormy sea, she got ship wrecked
And the sea had robbed everything from her

What unanticipated change comes over
When people let one down
What shocking realization it is
To know that there is nobody to care

She is now a drying brook
That has once been a river in spate
A deflated balloon, unable to soar high
A blind bird that cannot see a dawn
Nor sing a song to wake the sleeping world
She bears scars like deep cuts
On an ill maintained tarmac road

Vacantly she looks into the far horizon
When broken shards of moonlight
Paint pictures of dark demons around her
She screams in silence for someone
To come to her rescue, to lift her up

As a bird that with nightfall returns
To a tree to call out its solitude to the stars
She sits there alone, terribly alone,
Not knowing to whom she should call out!

Will the stars keep her company?

Tomorrow when another day of uncertainty breaks out
She wonders if she should wake up and greet the dawn
With the hope that her pain would go into remission
And her frozen inside would thaw by itself in time

Or end her life as soundless, as inconsequential
As a droplet let down from a blade of grass!
One of the greatest cravings of man is for love and companionship . Here I try to trace the feelings of one who feels utterly deserted in life!

— The End —