Broken dreams. Stolen freedom
Trapped in the night, trafficked and beaten
All a part of an evil economy
Nothing more but someone’s commodity.
A precious being like you and me,
A daughter, a sister, a somebody
She was drawn by the bright lights
She was tied up in their lies.
She works right through the daylight
She’s a slave to the night
Twenty-seven million like me
That’s twenty seven million on their cruel journey
Rise Up
Published inOther
a work like this reminds me why poetry is important
A terrible thing indeed.