- Books, Literature, and Writing
They Can't see the Writing on the Wall and Other Cold Truth Poetry
‘Move over grandad.’
A small blond boy spun past on a bike,
Faster than was reasonable.
Timothy North was pushed aside.
Arthritic legs groaning at the effort.
He walked on slowly,
Looking down at the pavement.
A monument of grime and gum.
Timothy North lives alone,
Eats alone and sleeps alone.
Balding with straggling wisps of white hair
Done eyes of rusted brown.
Standing five foot eight small,
Wearing weary, drowning eyes.
Wrinkles etched deeply,
Stamping pale, work worn skin.
Fingers gnarled as tree branches.
Reached out, and opened no. 54.
Timothy stepped in shivering.
He couldn't afford to heat,
He could barely afford to eat.
Two meals a day and soup at 12.
Chest wheezing, pride falling,
He sat down on his broken chair.
As he remembered what he was.
His damp, peeling wall now in his sight,
Displaying his Military and Victoria Cross.
Timothy North, a hero left to die.
Are People Being Let Down?
Are the problems in our world increasing?
The Girl With The Faded Brown Eyes
Her bruised, marked arms bear witness,
To the corrupt world, which is running aground.
A tragic testimony, to the flaws of life,
Which had brutally brought her down.
Relegated from society and normality,
Barely old enough to be alone.
Pain coursing through her young bones,
Fleeing from an unsafe home.
The holes on her jumper, grow gregariously.
As she desperately chases her sanity.
Burning in the abyss of her abdomen,
Hunger eroding her strength and humanity.
The rain pitter-patters with a gentle rhythm,
As if to soothe her saddened mind.
An old tarp and dirt her only bastion,
To a broken world. With no place for her kind.
Voiceless and unseen, to the world’s eyes.
Small and lonely. Hungry and cold.
No-one steps up to ease her burden.
The innocent victim, of a system full of holes.
When this life finally decided to free her.
As her breath ceased trying that day.
Frozen and numb, when the end came.
Now all her pain has been taken away.
One more pure soul now lost.
An anonymous number, with no-one to grieve.
The time has now come to accept the truth,
Purging the facade that we falsely believed.
That chasing only our own dreams,
Covertly turning away our eyes.
Blind to the pain before us,
Distractedly filtering out their cries.
As selfishness gives life no meaning,
No worth for our time will unfurl,
Only by helping each other,
Can we hope to fix this broken world.
© 2013 Anna Haven