Poems of Midnight

The Unfortunate

And so screams the unfortunate.
The unwanted.
The undesired.
The recipients of pain.
And so we scream
without voice to speak.
Without ears to hear.
Without eyes to see.
And so we scream
in darkness
without light to guide our way.
Without a soul to care,
we scream we scream we cry.
Cry of our miserable sins.
Cry shame cry hate cry tears.
Cry blood over our own misfortunes.
We wallow in self pity.
In the dark
-nothing-
forgotten.
Nothing
we scream to the night.
To those willing to listen.
Consumed by self hatred
and pride
and wrath
we cry.
We cry for hope,
and hope for more than despair.
We cry for solitude;
in it we find more than despair.
More than agony,
more than tears;
tears to see
though blind we have become.
In it we find solace.
More than unrest,
more than words;
words to hear
though deaf we have become.
And eyeless now we see,
and earless now we hear,
and limbless now we seek,
finding the cries,
finding the screams
of the unfortunate.

- Laura Baird