Hurt, Poetry by Ed N

Genre: Rhyme, Society, Political

by Ed N

Scattered pieces of white paper, your dossier no longer neatly organized on your desk: it took you years,
years to figure it out
and your standing there,
looking at your desk, looking at the snow globe shattered, the snowman smiling as it lies with its head in a pool, like a Mexican man passed out on the gutter:
You look at the documents on the floor,
then at your desk,
you filed them, you met your quota, your a king now: you eyes light up in sunlight,
you get a dawg that talks, but you’re just looking
for logic: there are the papers, they were on your desk, that were arranged perfectly


then you find yourself
staring at your hands: it was YOU, in a haze, your hands now pressed against the glass of your fancy office: every finger illuminated in good against the sunlight:

What did I know?
What did I know of loves silent screams and the price of forgiveness?

* * * * *
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