Harsh Realities
We heard the sound: it was
horrible
Then the scream, someone in pain, a moan
The scream grew faint, no longer audible
The sound of a gun, a dying man left to moan
We couldn’t help: we were
captives
Painful and true, the reality of impotence
In anguish and grieve, revenge was our motive
But we grieved in vain with raging hate in silence
The sound was the same,
always horrible
Sometimes a scream: sometimes dead silence
Always death and a pool of blood
With hate and greed the raging pestilence
Who will be next, the victim
to die?
Who will stand aside, to wait his turn?
Who will want to help, yet run to hide?
Who will force a smile, yet in anger burn?
THROUGH THE BUSHES
Journey painful, hard and
long
In search of dear life, they must carry on
For the young, the old and all who fled
It was through the bushes that all roads led
Death and pain and infliction
of suffering, untold
For the unfortunate: the weak, the strong, the young
and old
Trekking wearily on a journey long
Through the bushes: wet, dark, thick and strong
Sudden departures, cautious
and slow
To destinations unknown and fate unsure
Shattered families creeping and crawling
Through the bushes towards safety’s calling
Arduous Pleasure
She now holds a Child:
Borne into an angry world
To a union that never was
A son that unites the two
From a crime of sex too cruel
It
was his pleasure
To steal her most valued
treasure
In his moment of lustful madness
That became her life long memory of sadness
He was overpowered and obsessed by lust
No love, no feelings, a betrayal of unspoken trust
Tinted by hate, big and strong, he had no fear
Useless to struggle
Unable to scream,
She lie in her pool of tears
She surrendered.