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Rated: ASR · Poetry · Death · #1822569
A poem based on the perils of being tiny.
I'm running.

And I'm running.

And I can't look back,

I should keep running,

because they're right behind me

They're inches behind me

And, if I'm caught,

they will kill me.

Born into poverty, or slavery, or torture, or bliss.
And we're all united, each and every one of us.
Everyone and everything around us are gods,
giants that tower over us. How come they, the ones
who lounge infront of the television, are the ones
who tower over us, who loom and play and toy with
us. And us, the ones who run and scavenge and defend
and unite and flee and strategise and time and attack
and retreat and live and die and barely survive are
still struggling today, easily overpowered by those
who laze around all day. We have voices, such
powerful voices that are ignored. We can shout and scream
and bellow and they cannot hear us. They can whisper
and deafen us. We are tall, we are all so tall and yet,
we are all so small. But we're all united,
each and every one of us.

I'm running.

And we're running.

And we won't look back.

And we can't look back,

Because they're right behind us,

they're inches behind us.

And another one has been caught,

another one has been killed.

And I'm the last one.

I'm running,

and I'm running,

and I won't look back,

because they're right behind me,

they're inches behind me.

And why should I run?

Because I will be caught,

and I will be killed.

I may be tall and I may be loud,

but under a boot or a shoe,

I'm just a bloody pulp.
© Copyright 2011 Toucan Sundae (toucansundae at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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