My selfish heart cries out to be heard
Caught in this cage like a trapped bird
Screaming aloud never to be heard
Too much to handle with spittle that slurred
You pack me off to the safe haven
Black circling birds looking like ravens
The asylum looks almost graven
Bugs you hear head needs to be shaven
Weekend morns are the visiting days
None show by noon we’re pushed away
Not to disturb the guests that pay
No one cares or reading any way..
© 2011 Michael Yost
i like the rhymes …
Very sad topic–but very expressively written.
Thinking about Mother’s Day.
I’m not sure it selfish to want to be heard. Poignant poem.
Mother’s Day is hard when Mom’s not around anymore.
Yes it is.