For These Things I Cry
#5 of Poetry
Uploading old poems. Please provide feedback, as I hope to continue editing and making these acceptable for publication.
For these things I make myself cry:
Water falls from my eyes,
Since a comforter for my soul,
Distanced himself from me,
And my children were all scattered
When the rivals conquered.
In exile I have stood long,
Enduring taunts and jeers,
As surrounding nations holler,
Drowning cries for mercy:
"Where is your promised redeemer,
The one your heart awaits?"
Oh, that the Great Wall could have eyes
From which its tears would flow,
And a mouth from which to wail,
To weep for missing kids.
The luster in her cheeks paled,
From mourning night and day.
With no one to console her loss,
Nor shoulder for support -
What happened to the sweet city,
Where in the fairest slept?
Yet a cesspool it has become,
A place to loathe and hate.
A former fortress for the wise,
Now overrun with fools.
The dwellings of the rich are gone,
While beggars line the street.
And women known for compassion,
Are forced to eat their young.
Jest and enjoy your merriment,
But do it somewhere else.
For here I'll stand and here I'll cry
And share the Great Wall's pain.