The Faceless

We are your poor, your tired
your huddled masses yearning to breathe free
The race of the faceless, the voiceless nomadic souls
The gathered impure hunching forward
surveying the calm, clear, broken, horizon
In search of a resting place, every heart needs a home
We are your hope, your future
Your beckoning childhood asking one last favor
We're the eternal sun
whispering sweet nothings into the ears of tomorrow
the faceless; the inhabitants of a cursed earth
searching for a place to rest our hats on the twinkling stars
We are potent potential wasted at an irresponsible whim
We are the figure of a generation
calling out as hard as these lungs shall bare
The ghosts of credibility, saviors twisted and torn
prior to a sweet breath, we are you
We are your poor, your tired
without a choice in any matter


We are the faceless and abortion is murder

◄ Old Man

My blood, my wine ►

Comments

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Ann Foxglove

Mon 28th Dec 2009 19:17

I would also say, posting around christmas, many people on this site might miss these poems, which is a shame. Very few poems posted over the last few days have had any feed back, so don't be put off if you haven't had many comments. xx

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Noetic-fret!

Sat 26th Dec 2009 16:21

Hi Ridge, I really do think that you should publish these poems. I really think you gotta get your verse in print. I am absolutley bowled over by the lyrical style, and subject content you write about. I think you should start and try and get these to a bigger audience, i really do.

Michael

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