Tuesday, 28 February 2012

Sticks and Stones

we live in a world where words don't leave bruises......




When they found him,
His face, it wore a perfect smile,
No troubles etched upon his brow.
The cause of death,
Was hard to say,
He’d smiled just once,
Just once he smiled
And then his eye-shine and soul
Went on their way.
They cut him up to find the cause,
And there they were,
In stomach, blood,
And in his brain,
He’d choked on all the words inside
All the words he’d tried to hide.
He kept each one -
Instead of spitting all them out,
They killed him in the end.



bobby stevenson 2015

2 comments:

  1. As pertinent as ever to things in debate.
    A nice poem and very thought provoking.
    Tangents that others could only hope to feel.
    P.W.

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    Replies
    1. Cheers PW, very kind and thanks for the boost.

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