Overcoming any situation.
Overcoming any situation.
by Ron Poetry06 Feb 2014
A child wanders in a metropolis jungle
of fifteen million people or more.
Too frightened to ask for any help
hungry, thirsty, tired, sore.
Reddened eyes that once wept
for hours, days and weeks.
Unwashed clothes and body,
but who cares if one reeks.
Parent’s advice about strangers
remains ingrained in the mind,
ready to run if sweets are offered
hard to tell if they were just being kind.
No more thought given to loneliness,
survival’s hard when you’re young and alone.
In a dark alley at the rear of a restaurant
is a bed of cardboard and a garbage bin scone.
A day spent looking for food, clothing and money,
running from pimps, perverts and police.
Cornered whilst eating a stolen apple by the river,
police and social workers have a child of the streets. He can't find his way, where will he sleep today.. No matter where he ends up he will remain....LOST
All of those cars
Filled with food they're never gonna eat
Some but barely none give me something worth while
Most don’t even look at all
They know I'm here
I'm not invisible
I might as well be
It angers me
When I see a fake homeless one get all the goods
And when they're done for the day
They gather up all of their money and food
And hop in their automobiles to their fancy two-story town house.
But today is a different day
They didn’t just drive past
They opened their door and told me to get in
I was skeptical at first
But I thought, what else have I got to lose?
When the car stopped
It stopped in front of a grand house on the left hand side of the street..
Big enough to house the world
As I was staring in awe a flood of children came running out the door
It scared me at first
But then I saw their smiles
I smiled and ran with the children up onto the porch
A little girl looked up at me and said
if you walk into this house you are accepting this gift but if you walk away you will be denying the gift.'
I smiled and took a step forward into an entirely new life..
As a teen...
The years of tears,
I was so unwilling to let go of,
Have finally flooded the gates of my poetic Kingdom of LIFE..,
I know not the cause or the reason,
all I know..is hurt is abundant,
Poetic melancholy words pass through,
One ear not to come out the other,
but to remain, replaying in sad repetition, The emotional hurt now bleeds to the surface,
I must release my sorrow, with a quick slash,
One small stream of pain,
Released from a vein of the king of this Poetic Kingdom of LIFE,
my thin line between the beauty of insanity,
is on the brink of becoming, something perhaps sane.
I speak these words in attempt to vent, but I know there spoken in vain.
My blood leaves no stain, as a man I have released childhood pain.. Never looking back twice, as I dwell alone in my POETIC KINGDOM of LIFE.
Take a moment and walk with me backwards through my childhood to get a handle on the man that I am, the man proclaiming to be a king of a POETIC KINGDOM of LIFE...
The building on the left... I have lived here
since that little girl told me to enter and accept a new life..... A lot changed over the next few years..
I'd give anything to make it disappear..I reunited with my mother and step father... Wow my step father..
He controlled every move I made.. Close your eyes and feel what I'm feeling by telling you this.. I'm 17 again..
I can't handle this anymore
I'm about to run away,
he treats me as if I'm nothing
saying I'm dumb
and stupid. Mom ignores each insult, I've taken her nicknames..
no one will ever love you'
according to him
I screw up everything I do
I feel like a slave here,
to come home, but I do basically to check on my mother,
to be yelled at everyday for no reason, because you're hurting, war dreams have you scared, lack of education because your parents never cared.. Why am I paying the price? In this crowed world,
I feel so alone
when will I be good enough?
What did I do
to not deserve love? An Updated version of THE COLOR PURPLE, but its not my sister writing, its my real dad.. Letters and cards hidden or burnt, I'd ask if ANY LETTERS CAME and that's when the
hitting and screaming,
crying and bruising, begin.. In my numb state I ask myself..
When will it stop?
I've had enough
maybe just maybe
hell isn't this bad, maybe tonight is the night he takes my life..
Its been like this since i was a baby
and now I'm seventeen
I need out
I wanna be free
I hide in my room
but i know
he will come in
and I always lose
and he always wins
one more year
and then I'm out of here..
Sometimes i just wanna give up
this is enough
but then I remember I have to be strong and worry about my mother because
for everyone else will.. People in the street would never believe that such a fine well mannered young man
that has been treated this wrong, can write a song.. But until they realize it ill just
sit here as he
screams and yells
but one day he will see
ill be gone from this prison cell.
At 18 I made bail.. He killed me..
And RON POETRY WAS BORN. .