For What, I Might Add?

1 Comments

Tags:
  • Sadness
    • ,
  • War
    • ,
  • Orphan
    • ,
  • Cry
    • ,
  • Alone
    • ,
  • Dreams
    • ,
  • Lonliness
    • ,
  • Frustration
    • CherylJ
    • Dealing with my plagued mind..

    Poem Commentary

    This was about the 1940s' during WWll. I was thinking about how many kids became orphans because their parents were killed. i didn't mention how the parents were killed but I want people to know that this was about a boy who was in an orphange with other kids who have also lost their parents.

    For What, I Might Add?

    They wake me early,
    I'm not the only one.
    They count us each day, two by two.
    This is no fun.

    They feel we may escape,
    for what, I might add,
    This livin' on you own thing?
    It's just a fad.

    Now we get dressed.
    It's time for breakfast
    They give us gruel.
    They say it is our strength, it is our fuel.

    Now it's time for our learnin',
    I wish we were done.
    Because I don't know what it feels like
    to win or to have won.

    It's playtime now.
    The big kids pick on me.
    I think to myself,
    we are all in this together.
    Why can't they let me be?

    I feel like cryin'
    I feel like morphin'
    It is the 1940s'
    My parents are gone,
    and I,     am an orphan.

    Poem Comments

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    angelchaser commented on For What, I Might Add?

    08-06-2011

    A powerful piece, you've captured the essence of your subject very well. I've read stories of kids on orphanages back then and I can't imagine having to live like that. Nicely done.
    Reply to Comment

    CherylJ

    08/07/2011

    Thank you very much! I really do appreciate it! Not to sound too much like an advertisement but I would like for you to check out my writing blog. ladyluck5210originalwords.blogspot.com I'm just kind of desperate for some sort of feedback.. Thank you!!

    Poetry is not an expression of the party line. It's that time of night, lying in bed, thinking what you really think, making the private world public, that's what the poet does.

    Allen Ginsberg (1926-1997) U.S. poet.

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