What Sting?

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
A look at the world from my place in the living room...

Submitted: August 20, 2018

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Submitted: August 20, 2018

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What Sting?

Bobi Leutschaft Poitras © June 15, 2018

 

O death, you hold no sting for me,

How could you, after this?

 

A lonely child, afraid to speak

Is knocked around once more,

Is spat upon and sodomized;

His blood stains mar the floor.

He cries himself to sleep each night

While at his door he stares.

Instead of counting sheep he counts

His unanswered prayers.

 

O death, you hold no sting for me,

How could you, after this?

 

Out on the street a woman walks,

Her head held down in shame,

Despite the things that she’s been told

She carries still the blame.

A needle helps dissolve the pain

And all cares float away,

The empty cradle hurts no more;

She lives for one more day.

 

O death, you hold no sting for me,

How could you, after this?

 

The hurricanes, tornadoes, floods,

Wreck havoc in their path.

The dreadful cries, they fill the air

As leaders do the math.

A thousand here, a hundred there,

The news reports the count.

We click our tongues and shake our heads

And eat our full amount.

 

Oh death, you hold no sting for me,

How could you, after this?

 

A million blurry faces, more!

Crammed in stinking tents.

The laughter of the children falls

Inside the towering fence.

Sickness and despair destroy them,

But me, I watch TV.

And wonder when the mail will come

And what the mail will be.

 

Oh death, you hold no sting for me,

How could you after this?

 


© Copyright 2018 Bobi Leutschaft Poitras. All rights reserved.

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