THE FORGOTTEN.

These broken nails and charred gnarly fingers,
The calluses decorating the palms of my hands,
The bloody blisters that are the soles of my feet,
The hair torn, laced with my scalp,
Eyes blood-shot and devoid of life,
Cheeks, hardened by eons of flowing tears that are no more,
The thin frame, a wonder it can support these bones,
Bone on bone.

Baggy, coarse sandpaper for skin, heavy,
A misery that’s the constant reminder of my living,
Wish I could shed it off as do snakes,
My tongue, dark, cold, filled with nostalgia,
Of days past, on the affairs it had with meals,
Breakfast, lunch and supper…bread, juicy fleshy meats…
I’m scared to even remember…

Wonder if I can even construct coherent thoughts,
As my stomach elicits a moan, a low whimper from its dark recesses,
No longer able to educe the proud and deep rumbles of times past,
To remind its master of the needed to indulge himself,
My heart teasingly walks the thin string that is precious life and death,
Weaker beat after weak beat, barely a whisper…

And all they do is stare,
Then lights…, camera…
Our lives reduced to entertainment, if only for those brief seconds,
A news article to garner higher viewer ratings,
At least something for those who can seemingly have nothing better to talk about…

Back mother earth shall remember us,
Remember us breaking our backs, the sun and moaning for company,
The loving embrace and soothing whispers of the wind,
As we chocked on hunger and anger,
As we dug our children's graves with our bare hands,
First one, two...all.

As they sat, they watched and did…nothing.