You will not do anymore, worn shoes
In which I have lived in like holey socks,
Dirty and poor for twenty years,
Barely the strength to breathe or eat,
A ghastly statue of skin and bones.

My friends all died before their time,
Carrying to a grave a bagful of religion,
Ragged clothes scraped from white bodies,
Tossed into a fire — pacing up and down in an alley;
I use to pray for you until my eyes went blind.

Trying to pick worms off of me,
I have always been scared of insects,
Like a death boot in the face as they burrow in;
Through the uncut grass of a cemetery I stumble,
In search of the holy ghost, looking to repent.

Crossing and recrossing, my aging fingers
Trespassing on sacred ground;
An unmarked headstone — I was still warm
When society shoved me in an earth crypt;
I no longer trespass stupidly among the black hearts.

Copyright © 06/08/18 lance sheridan®


10 comments on “Peasant

  1. Barbara Kasey Smith says:

    Goodness!!! Lance this opens a scene of a reality for some, the images are magnified to cause imaginations to bloom in many directions. This write is excellent in every way!!

  2. kaddietucker says:

    Dark and lovely…your words sent my mind skittering off in countless directions, all of them good, but posted with a sign reading “Be carful when you step”.

  3. In some place in Ireland, the poor were buried in such shallow graves during the Great Famine that their remains still come to light today.

  4. Though I might not exactly grasp the essence of your message since the tale is set in a cultural context not so familiar to me, I feel the speaker’s experiences, and the poet’s sympathetic approach and his great style!! 🙂

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