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Array ( [sid] => 113381 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => Morning (In The Slums) [time] => 2006-01-18 07:08:30 [hometext] => [bodytext] => When you wake up in the morn,
surrounded by its dim light,
when you still wander on that thin line
`tween misty dreams and dull reality,
your being and thoughts
slide heavily
through the cobwebs
of your cold and wretched life,
you again behold the spectre
of your mother
breast feeding you until she dried out,
until you had desperately
sucked away
whatever remainder
of humanity
she might have had
in that grim, miserable, cold, filthy hut.

You see the murky shadow
of your father
through that yellowish mist
of cheap tobacco and spirit,
his fists striking
at his anger and despair
onto your young and frail body,
you remember the hunger
that lurked
around every corner
of your tortous path
in that grim, miserable, cold, filthy hut.

Your heart then awakens, thumping
in anguish and awe,
your eyes suddenly opening
to the sight of your child,
bare feet on the cold earth floor
of your filthy, grim, cold, miserable hut,
through the yellowish mist
of yesterday`s left overs
of cheap tobacco and spirit,
you strike
at your anger and despair,
ignoring your son`s dark
innocent eyes,
looking at you
with such inmense sadness.
[comments] => 1 [counter] => 439 [topic] => 43 [informant] => pecjak [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 5 [ratings] => 3 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => oops )

Morning (In The Slums)

Contributed by pecjak on Wednesday, 18th January 2006 @ 07:08:30 AM in AEST
Topic: oops

When you wake up in the morn,
surrounded by its dim light,
when you still wander on that thin line
`tween misty dreams and dull reality,
your being and thoughts
slide heavily
through the cobwebs
of your cold and wretched life,
you again behold the spectre
of your mother
breast feeding you until she dried out,
until you had desperately
sucked away
whatever remainder
of humanity
she might have had
in that grim, miserable, cold, filthy hut.

You see the murky shadow
of your father
through that yellowish mist
of cheap tobacco and spirit,
his fists striking
at his anger and despair
onto your young and frail body,
you remember the hunger
that lurked
around every corner
of your tortous path
in that grim, miserable, cold, filthy hut.

Your heart then awakens, thumping
in anguish and awe,
your eyes suddenly opening
to the sight of your child,
bare feet on the cold earth floor
of your filthy, grim, cold, miserable hut,
through the yellowish mist
of yesterday`s left overs
of cheap tobacco and spirit,
you strike
at your anger and despair,
ignoring your son`s dark
innocent eyes,
looking at you
with such inmense sadness.

Copyright © pecjak ... [ 2006-01-18 07:08:30]
(Date/Time posted on site)

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Re: Morning (In The Slums) (User Rating: 1 )
by lostrelic on Wednesday, 18th January 2006 @ 03:45:11 PM AEST
(User Info | Send a Message)

a great write with a sad but truthful message great poem
r.m.wilder

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