They Didn't Have Tattered Clothes

Children Need Your Voice

Susan Elliott
Their lives, like a painting of fierce reds, blacks
brushed hard onto a canvas
-cuts, scrapes, bruises,
torn deep into cottony flesh. No, their flesh.

Paint, slanting, tilting, flying past borders
images of anger, frustration, depression.

My own helplessness, unavoidable.
I see them. Each of their faces,
Some yellow-beige, others black as ebony.

Their tears haunt my dreams.
shattered voices, long lost pieces of life.
Circumstance cursed them.

They stand before the judge,
longing for, needing, the beauty of life back.
Lost children, empty shells of what they were.

The gavel falls thrusting a hole
through their sodden masterpiece.
Innocent eyes shut, stained
by salty tears dried on precious skin.
They are alone,
hanging onto their broken canvas.

Published by Susan Elliott

Susan Elliott's poetry has appeared in both print and online formats. Susan has recently published her first two Kindle books: Wandering Through a Barely Functional Mind and Ink Blots on Paper.  View profile

3 Comments

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  • Faye Fairley2/17/2010

    absolutely wonderful job.

  • Paul Rance1/8/2010

    Poignant poem. Sadly, nothing much seems to change as regards poverty and cruelty. I guess things have moved on in a hundred years, but not fast enough.

  • Ruth Carter8/26/2009

    Oh, Susan, I cannot even find the words to express how this poem makes me feel. Incredibly moving and emotional!

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