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For the People
By Melanie Falls
There is tragedy in the waiting and in the overworked hands,
Distressing to induce the weary hopes,
Before fading apathetically,
In the strain to endure.
There is bitter misfortune
In the first hyacinth of spring,
Manifesting itself
In shattered, abandoned gardens.
Out of all the ardent hearts,
Lost and tortured
Into one hollow, listless whimper,
Why has not one answered:
"Why must the people suffer still?"
Still,
I want to reach my hand out,
And dip it into the fuming lava.
I want to bathe in it,
And let it burn me
Through
To the bone.
This fire inside me
Lights such a passion
That leaves me
Writhing helplessly,
Staked to a stone wall.
Along the sides of dusty roads,
Of the children's amorous ode's
Lie the remains of a Star,
Collapsing from far.
All so worn-down,
Lying on the clotheslines to dry-out,
Dying,
Bound under the biting heat
Of the sun . . .
Is this where the people must stay?
— Melanie Falls is a student in the Bridge program at Youth Radio.
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