The Old Bus Stop

Life stands still at the old bus stop

where the gangs roam free, no police

the cops

too scared to go

there with them, the scavengers, thieves

and the whores with men

Don’t dare to go, leave them be, they can fend

for themselves

if they die

who will see, not them, or you

not me, will see

they are nothing

Tattooed bodies roam the streets

with guns, and drugs

giving out sweets

to seduce the young, give them a gun

they are theirs

forever

they are part of the gang, to die, perhaps

to die with a bang, however they die

who will give a damn

they were just another

one of a gang

See the graffiti adorning the walls, of the old bus stop

in the middle of wars

of rivals

and thugs, with their knives

they mug

the innocent few

who never knew, not to go after dark

or before the lark

to the old bus stop ~ just next to the park

Copyright © 2011 by Mike Sutcliffe

A Complicated Man

There are too many halves to make just one whole,

they fight for supremacy, they tear at my soul,

for the right to be free, to escape from within,

to be the dominant one, the one that must win,

There is carefree and happy, so light in its mood,

mixed with laughter and joy bringing all that is good.

Then there is thoughtful ~ it is deep and sad,

raising anger and fury, it is boiling and mad.

Still there is more dwelling deep down inside,

there is love and romance which so often hides.

Not ruthless and cold with the harshest of stares,

that is daring and bold, it never really cares.

Which one today, that is out of my hands,

it was once said to me that I am a complicated man.

Poetryman

Copyright © 2012 by Mike Sutcliffe