My
voice can be heard, and as I stutter
While
moaning and groaning in the gutter,
I
implore to open the door of the sad poor
Who
importantly matter in a wide score.
A
score of people who are humanly sane
Who
play the game of tame and refrain
From
grievances to technocrats like rats
Who
ply their trade of needless stat's.
I’m
awash with a summons for justice,
And
am feeling cold from the bold
Elements
of a scold from being told
By
the wavering authority not nice.
©
Andrew Stevenson 24/06/2017
An edited piece.
Thank you. Love love, Andrew.
Another thought provoking poem Andrew, I shall think of your verses as the day progresses.
ReplyDeleteYvonne.
Greetings Yvonne. Thank you for stopping by and for your comment. Blessings. Love love, Andrew.
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