When Fear and Faith Dance

May 22, 2009
By Leah Burdsall BRONZE, Clifton Heights, Pennsylvania
Leah Burdsall BRONZE, Clifton Heights, Pennsylvania
3 articles 0 photos 1 comment

People of the world,
Our bones are shattered,
Our skin has festered.

And we no longer matter,
Because we are nothing but a shadow,
Cast from governmental scandals,
And those who would kill, but never die,
To protect their half formed lies.
They will build in us a place to run,
And a place to lay their blame.
A broken outlet for their pandemic fame.

Children die in the streets,
Rape and hunger written on their frames.
Lives cut short by a fatal system;
Potheads more dangerous than proven killers.
And humanity is being blinded
Because vapidity resides at the core.
Eyes loosing interest in seeing anything more…
More than numbers on a scale
Or competition; dead-end promotions.
Deep under our realization is a fight
Yet these brainwashed eyes could never see its dark light.

And hello, Mister President,
You’re just a foolish mortal too.
Weaknesses and emotions,
Bias your every move.
And after all the contests, popularity, and pressures,
Do you lay down your head with fear?
You know the degree, so much worse than it appears.
You’ve won yourself a nation,
And its people expect your help.
On your own, fix it all,
Or by yourself, be blamed for a peoples fall.

They tell us believe, and you will thrive.
What happens when the little Christian girl looses her mom and dad?
Killed by a drunk driver; he was just so tired of trying.
Her foster dad will take her skin,
And he will turn it shades of black and blue.
No one will believe her, there is nothing she can do.
Tell me then, where is God
When little angels struggle to survive?
But I know there is a God, and control is in his hands.
Every wrong brings sorrow to his eyes,
Ultimate love; lets us choose to die.

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This article has 2 comments.

on Jun. 8 2009 at 9:02 pm
Leah Burdsall BRONZE, Clifton Heights, Pennsylvania
3 articles 0 photos 1 comment
"Potheads more dangerous than proven killers" was just referring to the cases where law enforcers stress over a bunch of teenagers smoking weed. Yeah, it's bad, and it's illegal, but in most cases the people who suffer from it the most are the ones doing the drugs. They do it to themselves. And cops and such spend their time worrying about the potheads when they could be paying more attention to finding people who really are dangerous to society. Of course, things aren't always like this, and I'm sure plenty of law enforcers have their priorities straight. But sometimes the killers are passed over and the guy selling weed ends up in jail instead. It's not technically wrong, and both are illegal, it just seems like one should be dealt with before the other.

And I definitely didn't mean to stereotype foster parents. Because a lot of them are amazing people who really make a positive difference in children's lives. But sometimes foster parents are bad for the child, and it creates a flawed system. I only intended to point out that flaw, but in no way do I think that all foster parents belong in that stereotype.

This kind of poem is very new to me, and I definitely appreciate the questions, advice, critiques, concerns and encouragement. They're fantastic!

on Jun. 8 2009 at 2:47 pm
E.L.W. PLATINUM, Glen Allen, Virginia
31 articles 0 photos 59 comments

Favorite Quote:
Here's to the crazy ones. The misfits. The rebels.
The troublemakers. The round pegs in the square holes -
the ones who see things differently.
They're not fond of rules and they have no respect for the status quo.
They push the human race forward.

You start off really strong -- I like the first stanza.

You use some truly beautiful words and images but I do have a few questions about the content; what do you mean by "potheads more dangerous than potential killers"? just wondering...and the part about how her "foster dad will take her skin and turn it shades of black and blue"? i understand it is one scenario but i feel like it paints a negative picture of foster parents when in actuality, they often are the thing a child needs.

But your poem is quite excellent -- keep writing.


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