Exile They Call Me. Read Count : 2

Category : Poems

Sub Category : N/A

As early as 6 I wrote a statement

Not one a 6 year old should understand

With age I've come to remember it fondly

And with long loathing I reminisce 

The phrase was not just a passing phase

It was a word of power to me

"Saka" was a new invention

It was older than time itself

See saka was just an abbreviation 

A pseudonym and a callsign 

For to me, and of power not of my making

It meant "maturity is a responsibility not a choice"

It behooves me to disseminate that I only understand now what I was truly feeling. 

For maturity was only a martyr for a loss

A feeling of something taken from me without a recourse. 

For a child without a childhood knows only of his responsibility 

His only call to serve 

To be the man he is not. 

In clarity I've begun to unblock my feeling

And begun to mourn that loss

Without connection to a singular incident 

I can only hope not to spin like a top

I hurt in each part of my body

A bullet in my hip

My shoulder falling off

My kneecaps both worn and broken

Arthritis in my joints

My friendships are missing

Worn from the storm

For animal they called me

Venomous or not

For creature they treated me

Run out by the mob

In exile for mistakes I couldn't dare to choose

For social workings are complicated 

People are bitter too. 

Running in the fog I weep

A man without a name

And without a peep they look at me

Drenched in my shame

With no defense I offer my last drop of blood

For exile they call me

Sentenced to the mud.

Comments

  • Maurice  Beres

    Maurice Beres

    Excellent and powerful

    Apr 28, 2019

  • Vandry Hallway

    Vandry Hallway

    Thank you Maurice!

    Apr 28, 2019

Log Out?

Are you sure you want to log out?