Poetry Challenge, V. 6.0, Days 27 and 28

Hi again, everyone -

We are finally into the home stretch, and it's time to really push through to the end of this year's poetic journey!  Thanks again to all those who have looked it, read a little, shared some of your poems with me, and have joined me on this little journey.  Poetry is good for us - it handles the tough things that are hard to talk about, and helps us make sense by evoking feelings, and giving us a safe and sane way to do so.  Particularly in this troubling time, we need more safety and sanity than ever.  That being said, it's definitely time for more words!!!  Here's another that was sent to me and I have permission to share!

MOISTURE...

Skiing snow, snowball snow,

Flaky soft to leaden weight,

Snowballs and snowmen

Enticing children of all ages.

Misting curtain of rain

Nurturing farm and garden,

Flooding monsoons, floating destruction.

Tears trickling down a dirty face,

Uncontrolled sobs,

Gut-wrenching heaves,

Tasting salt, altering sinuses, healing... moisture.

Hands of the King

There was a man I once heard of -

   soft-spoken, unremarkable,

   calm, 

   peaceful,

and where he walked -

   kingly footsteps were sure,

   steady,

   forward.

He traveled far and wide across the land,

   bringing his peace with him,

   prosperity,

   justice,

always working with his hands,

   building,

   healing.

We need that king today.

Nothing Changes

I tell you it's not right,

that you can't do this to me,

it's more than unfair, 

it's not human - 

I deserve better.
I am ignored, and nothing changes.

I get louder,

screaming and shouting at the top of my lungs,

go broke paying for advertisements and events 

that challenge the ruling social order,

just trying to get heard, 

get noticed,

get the attention of someone who matters,

someone who can do something about it -

I'm called a heretic, a problem, and nothing changes.

It happens to my friends, my family, my neighbors

and finally, to some poor schmuck who was

in the wrong place at the wrong time

who did something he shouldn't have,

or didn't - 

and it boils over, erupts, and we're called criminals.

Because nothing changes.

Thanks for reading,

The Fat Kid