pleasure and agony

The clock strikes 12 all of the envious rats start spreading morbid lies that leaves this small town. Walking with their heads down

And heavy hearts when will this wistful disturbance will end

Bitter hands refusing to give to the poor or the dying dog.


Mornings are so sorrowful the birds

Don't chirp anymore  the only thing that

Wakes them up is the torturous screams of

Mental illness that of been trapped for years trying to digest

Pills to even slightly function  or even come to accept the unbearable act

Of trauma.   


The church is empty . dead silent the people are either lying in their deathbeds or


Hoping to make that day come soon. There are hard labor. The ones who fight for what's right and their  families this town seems to far gone when looked at.

Lets not forget

It can shine as bright a diamonds,gold and the sunset combined. People walk


The streets as they admire the incredible work and talents of others. Kids play faithfully . prayers are being held. Will and giving hands appear this tunnel is dark at times but they will never give up


This poem is about: 
My community
My country


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