The Gutter

An open drain- large, unrestrained;
Reeking of clamor unexpressed
I hear a woman’s cry
There is devastation and despair.

It is a time of birth
And an emerging murmur of an end

A new-born floats down the gutter
The residue of society’s sins
More blood, more death.
Does poverty justify it all?

1 comments:

Anonymous said...

first time on your blog.........You write poems quite well.........


Keep Writing

ME here

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