Replying to a comment on:

Won’t Somebody Be My Friend (Prose Poem) by amanda_dcosta

I am alone , from far off lands I’ve walked the streets of old. I have no roof to call my own, I live out in the cold. When I was young I’d scamper ‘bout with mum and dad and sis, from place to place we’d travel on I knew no life but this. We’d go from door to door in search of food, and clothes and drink; some gave us these though not enough in sickness we did sink. Till finally, I was alone, death took us all but me. How cruel life’s face shone that day and it still seems to be. The life I lived, I shudder to think I’ve passed from year to year, with no hopes, no hugs, no love but only tears and fear. People turn and laugh at me and with their tongue abuse “Why don’t you earn your livelihood and make your self some use?” No one would offer me a job though they still thought I should. To them I was untouchable and of course, up to no good. I’ve tried my hand at shoe shine and selling papers in the street. But all that I remember is the scene of passing feet -2- And thus I lived from day to day moving about was life. Till in a land I know not which I found myself a wife. Together, somewhere, we lived sometime I had a home at last. The two of us, we made a team and time passed very fast. Fate seemed to have a hold on me as it, my wife, did take. I could not understand my plight nor meaning of life make. Into deeper despair I sank, and into sickness too. Lord, how I survived to this day, Is absurd although it’s true! I’m eighty-seven years old now. My feet and joints ache. I’ve almost lost my eye sight and my back does seem to break. I’ve lived a hard and lonely life I’ve lived off wastes and crumbs, I’ve lived trough rain and sunshine, I’ve lived in dirty slums. And all I’ve asked these many years is whether He’s above and whether He’s the One called ‘just’ and whether He is love. I do not seem to understand What life is all about. At times I’d want my life to end But then at times hope sprouts. -3- And so I live my last few days It seems to me like this, to share the story of my life and what this big world gives. I hope that my life story will inspire hearts of stone to feel the needs of others especially of those alone. I have no home or fortune I know not what is fame and when I leave this hard world back no one will know my name. Yet, there is hope that someday I will certainly find true love and joy and happiness from what I leave behind.

lmp 13-Jun-06/6:49 AM
no offense taken for the bottle, now that you have clarified. :)

again i will say that i think that your sentiment is dead on; it is the way that you have portrayed the story that brings down your very good idea. this can be reworked or even re-written in
an entirely new work. i don't mean to discourage my any means. in fact, a poem about your expereinces with the old woman at the church would be an excellent piece to read. and you could still make the point that you are making in this piece, but from another angle; it may even be more powerful.

regarding the "help yourself"... it is not simply education or inherent opportunity that i believe in. it is spirit. those who are not the entitled, not the brightest, not the physically strong, can still persevere as long as they have the spirit to do so. one whose spirit has been quashed has but two options: give up or persevere. if one is to be beaten, defying defeat is the most triumphant thing a being can do. at least i think so.




Track and Plan your submissions ; Read some Comics ; Get Paid for your Poetry
PoemRanker Copyright © 2001 - 2024 - kaolin fire - All Rights Reserved
All poems Copyright © their respective authors
An internet tradition since June 9, 2001