Just think for a second.

Poverty’s Purgatory
Sticks and stones break your bones,
Rocks embedded in your sole,
Dirt in your eyes,
Mud flecks upon your thighs,
The devil whispers within the walls,
His deadly poison, you wail and call,
You hear heart’s stop, and bodies drop,
They come firing blanks into the haze,
Their monster’s chasing you into the desert maze,
You run to the heat hurt hills,
Throw away your seven year old skin,
Take up your bullets; all that’s left is hate,

Submitted: May 03, 2010

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I enjoy any poetry that rhymes because poetry with a rhyme scheme flows and keeps me engaged; but you start this poem off with "Sticks and stones break your bones," which is a line I like a lot and have used in my poem "RESILIENCE" written years ago.
Nice :)

Sat, May 22nd, 2010 3:18pm

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