Posted in Poetry

Youth

We used to scream, barbaric yelps until
Our throats were raw, our voices hoarse

As soon as the winter thaw would permit
Kick and stamper like a sadistic horse

Groping for the light of a sliver moon
Until our hands were as heavy as a horse

Around the corner, we peaked at freedom
Like the head of Shasta’s horse

Mothers’ grip, fathers quiped bitter words
Until throats were raw, their voices hoarse

—-

National Poetry month. Day 19. Poem 11. Not going to try to catch up. But I will try to get a few more poems out in the coming days. This is a ghazal.

Author:

Wayne Bowerman is a writer, poet and spoken word artist hailing from Grand Rapids Michigan. His writing is evocative and challenging while also encouraging to anyone who is going through any sort of struggle. If you are in the Grand Rapids area, you can catch him around town at various open mic shows and every Thursday night at Mayan Buzz Cafe where he hosts All Access Open Mic from 8-10pm.

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