My Hands Are Broken Poem by RIC BASTASA
My Hands Are Broken
I play your game
at nighttime
when mothers no longer
watch their
favorite sons
when fathers do not
care because we can already
fight for
what we think is right
they are old and
tired
so they always look
forward to
the last journey
this hour i sit behind a door
unloading a
baggage while you
take some more
what you can not anymore
hold
i won't play anymore
my hands are broken.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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5/6/2024 7:08:42 PM # 1.0.0.1119
hall mark style of your writing.. i love the style....aw