Faye Sizemore


Such a soft thing I am… underneath it all
… the surface that the world sees…
Armor that bounces the storms off me…
but lets them ricochet to my inner room
where that small child… me… cries in the gloom
So injured at the injustices of the world…
the bleeding soldier… the hungry little girl
the war torn lands… jungles and doomed sands
Diseases and hunger plague us still
and so it seems they always will
Crooked politicians and social leeches…
delivering with a smile… lie filled speeches
promising all… yet doing naught to ease pain
… personal gain is their only aim
There’s polluted oceans and newly dead fish…
Soon all mothers will serve an empty dish
Social prejudices and daily injustices
can dash a child’s joy… like a broken toy
‘Don’t hang ‘round that dark-skinned boy’
It is not supposed to be this way
There has to be a better way
I wish for a world where all can survive under the same sky
and soft old lady children will never have a reason to cry