What is it I wonder you don’t want us to see
that you don’t want included in the story
Do you think just because
your big smelly marker says
permanent ink that it
can cover up history
Why are you so scared
that someone might care
about the true version
of how the past
should be told or how
the future might unfold
Did you think with a stroke
you can cross out the hopes
of generations
who came and went
or maybe prevent those
who have yet to dream
their dreams
Just because you erase the words
does not mean
we can’t be heard
Because we can scream louder
than you can whine
we’ve done it since
the beginning of time
Category: Poetry
~She’s Been Here Before~
Once green and firm,
she danced,
on the boughs edge.
Whirling and dipping,
through the breezes,
of changing seasons.
She basked,
in hot summer suns.
Rejoicing in the adulation,
heaped upon her,
as she selfishly,
provided shade,
and shelter
to all who sought it.
Asking for nothing,
needing no one.
Autumn days,
stroked her ego,
into maturity.
transforming her,
into the envy of
artists and poets,
sages and prophets,
wise men and clerics.
But the chill of winter’s age,
dried and wrinkled her,
she fell,
dying.
Until all that remains,
of her once majestic existence,
is a final crumbling gasp,
under the heels of,
marching boots.
A Drive Around My Hometown
The house I was born in,
used to stand right here.
I was just one more hungry child
destined to grow old and die.
Right here in this schoolyard,
I learned life’s valuable lessons.
The more you have,
the more you get,
the more you want.
Here’s the church,
that taught me,
no one cared,
about lost souls.
Only how much,
is in the collection,
plate.
This is the highway,
where I found out,
if I went too far.
I would never,
make it back.
No matter how hard I try
Jerry Brotherton 