The ghost shuffles
with childhood chained to her wrist,
a silhouette of these perilous times.
Sometimes, when I see her there,
I call out,
and pray she may lift her head to see
beyond the sorrows and perhaps, smile.
To say my voice is not strong enough
is not to say that I have failed,
only that I must try harder to pry that spirit
away from the wall,
where she stands in the shadows amidst political slogans,
etched in place like stubborn grafitti.
this picture makes me very sad (this is not my poem yet)…makes me think of many children I have in my class this year that are struggling on so many levels due to what is going on in their homes. Some of them can drive me NUTS during the day, but then I come home and feel a pain in my heart for these children.
It is not a mere toy that I hold.
It is all I am allowed of childhood.
The chain forces me to stay
away from what I can only glimpse.
It is offers me no comfort
as a cushioned friend might.
It too feels the weight of neglect
and the sorrow of a lonesome heart.
Waiting only for a smile and a key
to set us free.
photo credit: Graffiti Land #
The ghost shuffles
with childhood chained to her wrist,
a silhouette of these perilous times.
Sometimes, when I see her there,
I call out,
and pray she may lift her head to see
beyond the sorrows and perhaps, smile.
To say my voice is not strong enough
is not to say that I have failed,
only that I must try harder to pry that spirit
away from the wall,
where she stands in the shadows amidst political slogans,
etched in place like stubborn grafitti.
http://vocaroo.com/?media=v9ht19j2jjPcCcW3E
this picture makes me very sad (this is not my poem yet)…makes me think of many children I have in my class this year that are struggling on so many levels due to what is going on in their homes. Some of them can drive me NUTS during the day, but then I come home and feel a pain in my heart for these children.
It is not a mere toy that I hold.
It is all I am allowed of childhood.
The chain forces me to stay
away from what I can only glimpse.
It is offers me no comfort
as a cushioned friend might.
It too feels the weight of neglect
and the sorrow of a lonesome heart.
Waiting only for a smile and a key
to set us free.
I felt as you did when writing my own poem. The image brought to mind some of my students, but also, kids of the world.
Kevin