Must We Know Our Past?

Thu, 08/15/2013 - 00:52 -- rauchb2

It hurts, doesn't it?
The world takes it's tole on you.
Doesn't judge, doesn't care
hurts everyone just as equally

The rich people in the Hills of Hollywood
No love for them will ever be as kind
as the love of the poor in the ghetto
or as real as that of the orphaned.

The poor people living in the mess
we call New York
will ever have a home so warm
as to keep its roof strong.

I chafes, doesn't it?
the handcuffs we wear constantly.
They hold us in and trap us
imprisoned those who have no where else to go

The helpless have no hope
and the strong have no sword
but save the "mighty" pen
and all the wars it has lost

A name is only a name
when given something precious
but when we have nothing but a name
what is it then?

It bleeds, doesn't it?
the wounds I cause you?
Does it hurt?
Or can you even feel it?

Because the dead don't feel
and the broken already have cracks
The living are lost
and the bleeding turns to ash

Heaven help us!
Your children are in need
but daddy isn't home
and I have not a mother.

Wonder what I am saying?
I can tell you the story
of a lost city
caught in a war so violent

that the streets bled
and the buildings crumbled
the children were never born
and all life seemed to end

That is it.
There is no happy ending.
No hero to save the day
only truth and what was left.


Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.


If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741