Hasn't someone spoken for the dead before? Sure, why not. They're dead, give them a few more last words. What about the ones who were alive on the outside, but their souls are already dead? They're a dead man walking, essentially. Drained from emotion, feeling, and pain, because they've endured too much. Can't someone speak up on their behalf? Is there any hope for the individuals?
I wish there was, and there is. But only a few reach for it, and fewer are successful in grasping the hope, the love, to feel again. Only a selected few are able to seek help, and their hope is a victorious achievement.
But what about the rest? Are they left astray to walk the face, alone? Scared? Confused?
I want the hope. I will do anything. I've been in this spot on too many occasions, too many seasons. I've received temporary happiness, but its taken away every time. I've had to strive and work for happiness.
Can't it just come for free?
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Poetry for the Emotional Teenager
الشعرGroup Poems: The Child's Dream, Why, Gone, Piece by Piece, 16 Directions to My Home All poems written by me. Group poems written by me and the JBA Writer's Craft class of 2015. Please do not steal my work. This is plagiarism and I will call you out...
