Your Poetry Dot Com - Night-out in a whore street

Array ( [sid] => 144858 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => Night-out in a whore street [time] => 2008-09-01 14:47:29 [hometext] => MY Close-Encounter Of The Sad Kind. [bodytext] =>

Lane of Dusky light, where virtues buried,
‘nd wicked breeds. Greasy faced half-naked women
wrangling with inebriated indecent ruffians yelling -
slang; hell den, where whoring boomed.

That one hollow night a bare woman, tears rolling,
nose bleeding, bumped over, seized my arm, pleading
for help, and I withdrew; “lady, I am not the kind “ she
though held on, tremblingly cried; “Please”

“Me not the kind either, but when hunger grew; ‘nd
my pale child’s rolling tears, drew to this trench of transgression,
here men thrived on feeble souls, heads were counted and sold,
those raised and were bold, ripped, raped, wrapped and buried cold.”

Over my hard held hand dropped and rolled here warm bitter tears,
pierced my heart – that might tear I feared. She murmured;
“Me a woman of emotions, not a beast to bear shame
’nd physical pain; to flush my desire and dreams down the drain,
to be molested over and again, raped for their gain;
my sin was plain - that I and my little one was in pain - of hunger.

Truth in her voice reflected on her torment face, me just a loner,
lit the light of new-life in her, ‘nd to me a purpose to breath.
-FRANCO-
[comments] => 5 [counter] => 264 [topic] => 65 [informant] => FRANCO [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 10 [ratings] => 2 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => toughstuff ) Your Poetry Dot Com - Night-out in a whore street

Night-out in a whore street
Date: Monday, 1st September 2008 @ 02:47:29 PM AEST
Topic: Sad Poetry

Contributed By: FRANCO

Lane of Dusky light, where virtues buried,
‘nd wicked breeds. Greasy faced half-naked women
wrangling with inebriated indecent ruffians yelling -
slang; hell den, where whoring boomed.

That one hollow night a bare woman, tears rolling,
nose bleeding, bumped over, seized my arm, pleading
for help, and I withdrew; “lady, I am not the kind “ she
though held on, tremblingly cried; “Please”

“Me not the kind either, but when hunger grew; ‘nd
my pale child’s rolling tears, drew to this trench of transgression,
here men thrived on feeble souls, heads were counted and sold,
those raised and were bold, ripped, raped, wrapped and buried cold.”

Over my hard held hand dropped and rolled here warm bitter tears,
pierced my heart – that might tear I feared. She murmured;
“Me a woman of emotions, not a beast to bear shame
’nd physical pain; to flush my desire and dreams down the drain,
to be molested over and again, raped for their gain;
my sin was plain - that I and my little one was in pain - of hunger.

Truth in her voice reflected on her torment face, me just a loner,
lit the light of new-life in her, ‘nd to me a purpose to breath.
-FRANCO-

This poem is Copyright ยฉ FRANCO

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