Turmoil

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My head is aching, I am shaking
How many more blows should I be taking?
Let me know! I am asking, requesting…
I am suffocating;
Tired of waiting…

I wish God could take some time off of his busy schedule to read my poem! 🙂

Behind the curtain

Behind the glittering lights and metals
Behind the rich man’s lane
Lies a narrow street of petals
Where real lives thrives in pain

They know not I am writing of them
They care not I am in their midst
They’ve burried their heads in sands of time
And lost in the morning mist

Libya

Grumpy grandpa had a goose
That laid a golden egg everyday
But they killed the grandpa and his goose
On a bright sunny day.

Gone was all that came for free
They had to sweat for bread and tea.
Shootings and looting were on the rise
Greed was paying it’s price!

The going got tough and the tough got weaker
To their surprise it was all much quicker
How do we undo the done they asked
A wise question that came out at last.

Flood

Rolling down the valley towards a molehill
Taking down lives and houses and riches
The cornfield of filth – see? I made you spill!
The bad, the worst and some witches.

They were there: those that are not of their blood
Caring for none and daring to reach
It wasn’t rain they feared, it was the flood.
May be this is how he chose to teach.

Now they knew. Well, not all of them!
The colour of blood can only be red
We have to go where we came from
Some went early while the rest are dead!