I Don't Know...
#24 of Poetry, both old and new
I'm pretty much homeless now. Great. But tonight I've managed to get my little neighborhood tribe into a squat, and we don't have to worry about the winter so much. This poem is dedicated to the unloved. The unfortunate. The ones who live apart from what we would consider everyday society. But still in my sadness, and also my madness, I kneel and I pray for hope and a cure. This is Ken Anderson, signing off to go and find something to eat for the two children who are part of our group. (16 and 14). It sickens me to know parents would throw out their children at such young ages.
I Don't Know...
What tomorrow brings.
The changing seasons;
Different birds that sing...
I don't know...
What I'm meant to say;
'Cause I live each moment,
From day to day...
And I don't know...
How sorrow feels;
I've no regrets,
For all I've done...
And I don't know...
What's fake and real,
Everyone has their
Opinions...
But I know one thing;
I hold it close,
Next to my heart,
A spark of hope.
And though I live,
Homeless and broke,
Still I always feel...
My freedom.
It comforts me, on coldest night;
A simple flash of hopeful light,
And though I shiver in the dark,
My eyes lay on that
Hopeful spark...