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Two Hundred Million

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Two times a hundred
Two hundred
Two hundred times a million
Two hundred million
Calls
Cries
The sidewalk their bed, the dumpster their fridge
Drug-addicted, ignorant to the scars
Grinning with empty mouths
That no one tries to see
Four hundred million outstretched hands
That reach no further
Than the steel cages of others’ hearts
One less
Buried with gentle acceptance
How can they mourn the ordinary?
A million miles, molecules away
Something too distant to feel
You see the pictures, read the books
And forget
Because
For some unexplainable reason
You are too deaf to hear
Two hundred million songs of sadness





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Grania This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. said...
Feb. 18, 2010 at 4:37 pm
I agree with bullets, this is great! Keep telling those stories; you're doing a good deed.
 
bullets. said...
Oct. 1, 2008 at 2:56 am
i hav no idea why no one has commented this poem.i love it.and i plan on reading ur other poems. keep writing..ur good :)
 
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