Children cry in their sleep.
Dry tears fall on imaginary pillows
while frail bodies' dream of imaginary beds.
Hunger burns them into unconsciousness.
No physician can claim a cure.
Parents cry in their sleep.
Their children are hungry, they have no beds.
Parents cry in their sleep.
Dry tears fall on imaginary pillows,
their bodies dream of imaginary beds.
Summer's heat and Winters cold rapidly take their toll.
Nests of newspapers are wrapped warmly in love,
holding them tightly in their wantonness.
Except in deprivation is equality found.
Hunger knows no equal except the jaws of despair.
Hope is a bird that has left it's resting place.
Fear is what is buried when death visits here.
The preacher speaks of mercy and the cemetery fills.
Cold dust fills the tarpaper room.
Magazines patch holes gaping in the walls.
Wind whips through their lives.
Flies make their torment.
Stings and cuts go unheeded for there is no remedy here.
Kin is close and friends are few.
Death looms tall near the swamp and roots.
Foliage of animals are staples in their lives;
short in duration and long in plight.
A grave is covered, another is born.
Children cry in their sleep.
Imagine.
Copyright PsychopeteÓ 2003
