Why should I bother and fight?
It’s never day, always night.
I’m tired of fighting all the dreams.
Sick of listening to my echoed screams.
I press my hands over my ears.
But still the voices whisper my fears.
Whispering messages of hate and bitterness.
They don’t care about my pain and distress.
But still I keep marching forward.
Just a pawn on this messed up chess board.
Fall to my knees and scream out loud.
I guess my poetry is just not allowed.
Take my freedom and take my faith.
This pain hangs over me like a dark wraith.
Take my paper and take my pen.
Insults being hurled again and again.
Even without a pen these words form inside my mind.
These words will never be confined.
Take my heart and blindfold my eyes.
Try to fill my mind with your hateful lies.
But still I will make my stand.
Your insults fall like sand in my hand.
Maybe you don’t like me but what can I say?
Keep messing with me and you’ll surely pay.
You say you hate me and I ask why?
But it seems like I never get a reply.
I’m sorry that I write and speak the truth.
I’m sorry that what I write is considered uncouth.
Listen to the truth that my pen and hand create.
Maybe if you listened, there wouldn’t be so much hate.
© 2009 Michael Dean Dumeir
Maybe If You Listened
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