| » Poem: From rags to riches to none |
From rags to riches to none
written by Trapezium06:49 PM 12/17/04Every night I sat down knitting my own clothes,
From leftover dinnercloths and dirty rags
They never treated me right and I had to do everything myself.
I'd have to wash the dishes mop the floors and empty the bags.
When I'd finished all the chores I'd have to cry myself to sleep,
For no song would be a gentle lullaby,
My tears and the creaks of my master's room were the only sounds,
I'd have to wake up in the morning wondering why.
I'd do the same everyday and not get paid,
And if something was even slightly put of place,
I'd get a silver belt buckle across my back,
Or a glass bottle smashed around my face.
Then I'd have to clean up the blood,
The broken glass shards they made,
And if they saw me without their requests,
I'd get hurt... so I lay low in the shade.
One day I rose again and crippled their fortune,
I inherited the house and everything they had,
No one would know how I got so rich,
And just for once... life wasn't so bad.
I bought a slave - knowing exactly how it felt,
I didn't care because I had the upper hand,
I had the gold teaspoons and the silver platter,
I had everything I wanted at my every demand.
But then one day I realised in all the frenzy,
I had no freinds, no love and no happiness in my life,
I still cried myself to sleep every night despite my fortune,
I still had the conflict, the pain, the strife.
So I confessed and I told them what I done,
I killed them all with poisoning,
Not knowing how it would affect my life for the worse,
Not knowing of the depression it'd bring.
From rags to riches to none I stand alone,
I was lonely everywhere I walked and every time I cried,
I got sentenced to death by the high courts,
I wanted to die but at least it wasn't suicide. |
All (c)Copyrights reserved by the Original Author.
Author's footnotes and comments on this Poem:
For all of you people who think you have a hard life. You wouldn't survive as a slave in 1755.
For all of you who claim to be raised in the ghetto, go live in post-Afghanistan. You'd be too scared to catch a plane there, let alone be in the place for 5 minutes. That's true ghetto, bombs blowing everywhere, mortars and AKs, strife between everyone and different gangs facing turf wars. Hell yeah, that's more ghetto than you're lonely suburban house with the odd robbery here and there.
White Lion
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This Poem has been viewed 425 times
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| » Comments / Feedback | by FeeFee (12-17-2004 - 06:52 PM)
| Lovely poem, to complex for my brain though
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by Genocide Reaper (12-17-2004 - 08:47 PM)
| Beautiful.. and I'd love to be over there returning fire! |
by Trapezium (12-18-2004 - 01:03 PM)
| yeah, you might, and I might... but none of these pussy ass "ghetto kids" would. |
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