Standing together three natives of our land.
Rugged faces gnarled crippled hands.
Sharing a bottle of water it appears.
knocked down by society, so many years.
Kicked down every time they tried to get up,
befriended by a bottle, fire water in a cup.
Living lives of despair seems nobody cares.
Covered by the blood of societies hate,
they stand in an almost non-existent state.
Three lost men there on the sidewalk,
scars of beatings displayed while they talk.
Deep, dead eyes, a slight longing to live,
palms upright, begging society to give.
Some think, they got just what they deserve,
annoying people, getting on societies nerves.
Throw them a cheque, the government agrees.
Now who cares, keep them down on their knees.
The time will come when they rise up,
stand tall, show strength, throw away those cups.
Hearing the chiefs haunting voice,
advising them to finally make the right choice.
A proud nation once again will stand their ground.
Fighting back, speaking up, wearing their crowns.
The chiefs will hold their stance with pride.
No more will the people bow their faces to hide.
Education will flourish all over the land,
with happy children gathering round holding hands.
Life will change and a bright light will shine,
a blanket of peace, no more red wine.
Melvina Germain
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/709-no-more-red-wine/
