Climb the highest mountain, punch the face of god
Give me your poor, your weak, your feeble...
Give me disease,
A taste of black death
To climb down my throat.
Give me the wretched
Starvation plaguing third world countries,
So that I might know true hunger,
And not merely yearning for attention.
Give me a shot to the head,
A slap across the face;
Anything to make me feel
So that I never confuse decency
With irregularity.
9-1-11
A taste of black death
To climb down my throat.
Give me the wretched
Starvation plaguing third world countries,
So that I might know true hunger,
And not merely yearning for attention.
Give me a shot to the head,
A slap across the face;
Anything to make me feel
So that I never confuse decency
With irregularity.
9-1-11
Comment On This Poem --- Vote for this poem
Give me your poor, your weak, your feeble...
Give me your poor, your weak, your feeble...
