Collection of Poetic's: Too Heavy to Hold

P.O.V.erty

P.O.V. #1- Gretta Scicolesky

We were driving down the road

when a couple miles in

I saw a single person

Digging in a garbage bin.

'Papa, who is that?' I asked

'Don't look at him,' my Papa said

'Why ever not?' I did reply

'He does not own a bed.'

This confused me greatly,

since everyone owned beds.

Everyone had houses,

and roofs over their heads.

I told my Papa this,

and he said, 'Oh, my child.

'There are lots of different people out there,

'but only some are worth our while.'

At this point, we arrived at the store

where I got a velvet dress.

On the way back I saw them again.

My Papa said, 'He is a mess.'

Later that night I cried in my pillow

for I understood what he had meant.

He thought that we were better than he,

and that I shouldn't forget.

Some months later, there was someone else there.

I turned to my Papa with disgust.

'Oh, my child,' he said once more.

'You have all of my trust.'

P.O.V. #2- Uncle Edwin

As I am an old, old man

I know my time won't last.

So I send my message to all the children

of the present, future, and past.

When I was young, so long ago,

I used to think I was grand.

Better than everyone, greater than all,

and that I owned the land.

This was not true; I learned this too late.

I ignored what my father would tell me.

But I beg you, please listen,

do not ever be oh so greedy.

Give to the poor, for they give us hope

and hope beyond compare.

That one day, all of the human race

can live without despair.

They humble us, they make us fond

of things we take for granted.

Such petty things we think our great,,

just like ourselves, which are slanted.

No one is better than anyone else,

there are only the rich and the poor.

Everybody else who are in between

Need not knock down their doors.

P.O.V. #3- Oskar Lintell

I've lived on the streetsand I've gone through hell.

In fact, I've been there and back.

I am the lucky one, since I made it through.

But there are others who lost the path.

For eighteen years, I was all alone.

I was all that I had.

Then a girl came along, so pretty and tall,

Who walked with me and held my hand.

She saw past all that was grim and dreary,

and helped me see myself.

I realized all that I could be,

and placed my old life on a shelf.

But then they took her away from me.

The men dressed all in red.

They had guns and knives, swords and horses,

and they chopped off her head.

War an act of shameful men

who think they are better than others.

When all they actually ever do

I dishonor their fathers and mothers.

I went back to the streets just a year ago

and people asked me why.

They gave me strange looks and called me a kook.

I did it so I could survive.

I remembered those looks and laughs so clearly.

Those mean and hurtful souls

who didn't give a damn about what happened to me

or if I had bread in my bowl.

P.O.V. #4- Solly Niff

Whenever I speak, people laugh at me.

But how can they be so blind?

There is so much that they are missing,

but they're so close to the crossing line.

They should all cross over and follow me.

I'll show them a thing or two.

About living life with only what we need,

and not with 'for me' and 'for you.'

However, nobody cares enough

to just stop for even a laugh.

I play my fiddle and wait for the day

someone will come off the path.

Once you step off, there's no going back.

You'll realize what you never had seen.

And before you know it, you'll see it all over.

All the blues and pinks and greens.

Colors of love and hate are all over the place,

and if you look a little bit closer

you might see how many more there are

of hatred and losing composure.

Do you think we can change that?

I think we can,I know it, without a doubt.

Only where do we begin,

on the inside, or on the out?