The walk

A Poem by aishaxsal7

- to the world -

Bread basket,
Baby on back,
Fragments of coldness weeping from the hues of grey that roll past above,
She walks with the weight of the world,
The same one that deprived her of her dreams,
Pen in hand, book in lap,
A long but unforgotten desire,
The epitome of fame, fortune, made of gold and glitter,
Tipping mic, lifting chin, radiating the spotlight to sing.
Then the man, the exchange of intimate glances, falling into the trap of the inevitable, the warmth of one another's voices tuned to a fine melody made for hearts that beat as one, to a lifetime of running through poppy blossoms, green pastures and summer sunshine.
Bread basket,
Baby on back,
With every step,
She recalls,
Like dust under the brown boots,
Dreams crushed,
As she approaches the end of her walk...

© 2017 aishaxsal7

Author's Note

Many of us don't fully understand the struggles of those less fortunate than us. We live in a society where classism is still prevalent, where the division between the lower and upper classes is major - so here are the thoughts in a day of the life of one who lives a harsh reality every single day.

My Review

Would you like to review this Poem?
Login | Register

Reviews

alanwgraham

You have done a great job here of describing how life can crush until you are just existing. You may have had some escape and hopes of a better life but you end up back in the rut. The way you have structured your poem reflects this very well with the repeated section at the end. Yes, many peoples lives are like this.
Well done for writing about this.
Regards,
Alan