Poetry With A Mission

...a thought provoking poetical exercise.


I'm A Weary Traveller

Yes, I’m a weary traveller, one who's often in need of a hand,
My life has been a struggle — sometimes I feel like I’m on sinking sand.
And even though I’m your fellow human, I often feel so alone,
Because the hearts of some people I meet, appear to be made of stone.

So many people who could help me, just turn their back and walk away,
While others just make excuses, some token gesture, or wrong things say.
Which means that my cries oft go unanswered, so I try to do my best,
But there are those days when I dearly wish that I could be laid to rest.

I’d rather not ask for help — but swallow my pride — I'm afraid I must,
For so often I need the help of others — though, some betray my trust.
I would go it alone if I were able, but there're times I just can’t,
Though when I cry out for help — are people there? No. Usually they aren’t.

Yes, there are many folk like me, who just can't seem to get by alone,
Other folk who are struggling also — and likewise, mostly on their own.
And they too — like me — are seeking help, help that so often isn’t there,
Hence why many fall by the wayside, their burdens just too much to bare.

There're many who could help the likes of us, via their time or expertise,
Even via their money or possessions, or whatever else would ease.
However, most of those people won't, don’t, or not as much as they could,
And in most cases, I might add — certainly not as much as they should.

Hence — for many out there — life’s a battle, a battle that never ends,
One that many people don’t understand, looking through their coloured lens.
For most people just see what they want to see, and not what they need to,
Leaving many to struggle greatly, to suffer — and oh, how they do.

And some of them are close to suicide, hence that need to take great care,
Lest what you do or don’t do be their last straw — and you, thereby guilt share.
Yes, maybe not directly perhaps, but indirectly, in some way,
Therefore, it really does matter what you do, what you don’t do, or say.

Yes, some are very badly scarred — ticking time bombs ready to explode,
Or loose cannons — which very thoughtlessly lit, will no doubt fire their load.
And which ones might those folk be? Well, who knows? So — once again — take great care,
Lest it be you light a match; even become the victim of their despair.

Hence why it pays to stop and lend a hand, or be a listening ear,
And why it pays to look around you, to find who’s struggling, needing care.
For those who are standing near an edge, you could push, or maybe rescue,
Depending on what you do or don’t do, what you do or don’t say too.

Yes, I’m a weary traveller — is it possible you passed me by?
Maybe you didn’t see me standing there, or hear me — I wonder why?
Or maybe you did see me, did stop — gave a hand — just one of the few;
Well, such makes all the difference in the world — I’m so grateful — THANK YOU!

By Lance Landall