Photography, Robert J Powell
0 Comments 26 February 2012
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Alley of Books by Robert Powell
The harrowing matriarch of old,
lost to the truth of her blood
sad angry choking
unable to notice how those hands are place gently around our necks now.
But I see.
Dissolving, dismissive and absent
sired by despairing silence,
and it’s overwhelming after the fact accolades to our worth,
he looked right past us.
An ancient wellspring of heavy pain
waving weighty walking sticks
stubborn righteous and ignorant.
Shame on who?
Oh, I see
Our children with their open hearts
and their tears of joy
and their hunger for existence,
please don’t look to me.
So I may see.