Tiny Poems And Other Things Thatcome To My Mind When I'm On The Street

Broken Home

What is a broken home but a pile of broken hearts?
The anger melting into powerful words, that do more harm than good.
Jealousy, rejection, what a wonderful world.
When blood burns, it recognizes the ones that are not his own.
When the pockets are empty, reality sinks in like a deprived slut.

A child, sitting alone in the dining table, eating in silence while the door slams.
A teen, sobbing with failure, begging for this pain to end.
An adult, unable to do a thing for the younger ones.

The world is bought by money.
Hopes and dreams can't help but to drunken the poets in their own misery.

What would we do if we were torn apart?
Hunger could take over, stress and fights.
But what if it got fixed?

Harsh words are hard to forgive,
And though actions speak louder
Wounds caused by words never scar at all.

The kid drops his fork, it didn't fall on the floor but by the side of his plate.
He asks for forgiveness automatically.
Is that were we've gotten to?
A child saying how sorry he is, in spite of not doing anything wrong?

Where's the warmth of home?
This place, just a house.
We are far away from our family,
Far away from.our friends.

We are becoming bitter, dull and dead.

We are the bones of the broken home, and we shall rot with its walls, for we can do nothing to let go.