A cry of the discarded

• Zinette Du toit, Grade 11
• Short Story
• 2004

We watch,
We try to remember,
We watch to see what we once had,
We wish we were dreaming,
But reality is we will never see what we once had,
What we once had has been ravaged,
Like a child in the streets,
While we watch we see it deteriorate,
As we watch old feelings rise,
Are pulled to the surface,
Hatred, pain, love,
Yet hate comes in buckets full,
Pain comes in cups full,
And love comes in teaspoons full,
We should not watch,
But we do,
We watch and see the pain once again.
They fall,
The tears,
They fall freely and I wish it had not happened.
Like blood flowing through my veins the tears
Flow from my eyes,
Yet the world looks on,
They look on and pity us, but for their
Pity I return anger and hatred,
For now that is the only emotion I posses and
Maybe for a while yet,
Still I dream of what I had, but dreams they are no more,
the Dreams have become nightmares,
For the ghosts of the past are haunting them.