orphans
Learn more about other poetry terms
Put down the pen for just a moment.
Writing doesn't feed the poor.
Pamphlets cannot house an orphan,
Fliers don't eradicate gore.
You're offended by middle fingers,
But war and famine are okay.
Does structured poetry convey the same emotional movement as slam poetry?
Who am I to say,
That a three lined haiku
Doesn’t move one’s heart
As I roam the poor streets of Ethiopia,
The wails of the children come to my attention.
I look to my left and see the worn-out, oversized clothes
That hang loosely on their bodies.
Mesmerized by the beauty
Lost in the harmony
She is
Not focused on the problems
But the glory
Nor the sadness
But their story
Not attentive to their faults
Only noticing the shine
Them big brown eyes – they swallow me
So deep, in sleep
They’ve wept, parents crept
Away from dreaming, hoping young
Not so much as mockingbird sung
I saw, my own brown eyes
If I could choose just one job where would I even start?
I'm told that happiness and love is but endorphins in a brain
And yet I feel it rushing through my heart
The world we live in today
can in a moment's notice decay,
which without reason will leave us orphaned away.
I have walked over the prints of African children,
and yet nothing's changed.
