priscilla's chronicles

I wonder about our dreams,

the summits we said we’d pursue

I wonder why courage was never on our side,

Why we were always scared

And blamed 

men and women who broke our hearts.

Like we were homeless men,

People would ask why we didn’t help ourselves,

rushing us to a well-ness

we didn’t have the means to get to.

Suggesting our poverty was our fault,

convincing us that our lack, was what we deserved.

I had always wondered whether they knew a broken spirit,

And thought maybe they were simply too strong to be that depleted.

We laboured to get their help,

we frustrated our wits,

to try and tell them our story.

In hindsight we didn’t know that this world

Favours one with merit and  not by grace.

That, help here, is earned and not freely given

That you have to show potential, to be recognised and helped.

And that because we were who we were,

We could not have our story told.

Now I wonder about our dreams,

About summits we had planned to climb

Can you help us?

by your grace?

For we have nothing of own

To qualify us for your help.