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Correcting Numbers Statistics numbers stored in a dusty book for the record the bleeding crying victim screams for hope in fear of her own defiance sees no numbers no statistics only the hopelessness of her own humanity fallen with the thud of violence the fist colliding with her frail spirit crushing hope destroying sanity raping the very existence of self-worth Statistics? No one sees the numbers No one sees injustice in textbook research tears and blood congeal in the sweat of another dying spirit So where is the intellectual then? Correcting numbers? |
Additional Notes:
This is in response to something I read here.The emotions it stirred-up compelled me to write
this poem.
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