Category: An effort at rhyme

Prison Walls

They say the world

is overpopulated,

yet her people
feel caged and alone.

Dressed in our best
to sit beside someone,

both engaged with what’s on our phone.

Does anyone remember,
what it feels like to be happy?

Before we took,
the community out of humanity?

We accepted social distance,
and wearing a mask,

without so much as a fight.

Will we ever again find our voice,

to stand and speak up
for what is right?

Brainwashed, addicted,
poisoned and dependent,

never noticed
we’re not free at all?

Fool me once,
shame on you,

twice it’s on me,

third time,
I helped build my prison Walls.

My Conclusion

Why does it always have to make since,

Every little line and every word?

Why does it have to be in some kind of form?

To me its just absurd.

I really don’t understand it,

Although I still try to write.

Trying to come up with something,

That looks good in somebody else’s sight.

I think it should come,

Straight from your heart.

Every little line,

And every little part.

But to get the applause,

Of those who are reading,

You have to write something,

Better then those competing.

Whether the lines all match,

Or the words all rhyme,

To write something good,

It always takes time.

Its hard to take criticism,

From those who give it,

For every poem you write,

You’re the one who lived it.

Because it makes since to you,

You suppose it makes since to them.

But as for every heart that’s reading,

You cant always win.

I came to the conclusion,

I don’t have to know just why,

All I really have to do,

Is give my all and try.

 

 

Carrie Wink 1998

Discarded

My tree is full of fruit,

people pick to eat.

The fruit I bare,

so they say,

is heart warming and sweet.

Gentleness and kindness,

joyfulness and love,

patience and understanding,

people never get enough.

My fruit is disappearing,

no one seems to care,

they’ll no longer have the fruit,

from the tree they love to share.

I’ve been blown in the breeze,

I’ve been left out in the cold,

I’ve been trampled in the dirt,

now my fruit begins to mold.