Written from inside the struggle rather than looking back at it. The turn comes near the end: not falling apart like dried clay, but being stronger as time passes. Whether that is faith or stubbornness, the poem leaves open.
Through day in and day out,
Ghetto birds die,
I carry on the same fight,
Singing the same plight,
While others chill in exotic places,
Playing out fantasies for a while,
In the hood goes hungry a ghetto child,
I smile through the hardship and pain,
What I hope to gain one day is my-
Life and sanity in the right place,
Though my mind often feels deleted,
I feel compel to disagree,
Often life leaves you feeling lost,
Just have to make it through today,
I cry through many nights of terror
And I dream of falling through the cracks,
In the end I know I will make it,
For God chose me to be the one,
Struggle is what people do,
A human seeks shelter,
While a hero takes on a life,
Even with a grain of hope,
So let me close the topic of my life,
Instead focus on what I do right,
And when the final days come,
I will not fall apart like dried clay,
I will be stronger as time passes,
Staying on the right path all the time,
Wondering if heaven and hell exit,
For I live in one of them right now.
This one is from Book 1. All eleven books: https://www.amazon.com/author/ronil81
These poems were written years ago and published across nine books. They are not a report from this week.