The Silent Scream

&;#65279;Theodora dreams lay shattered,
amidst the
slithering schemes of hope.
People spoke in her head

as she pushed her trolley,
full to the brim of the
carrier bags
of her still life.


Collecting bottle tops and plastic cups,
the magpie
of the street.
Her clothes hung from her frame,
she
ate well when at home
and drank pure water from
the
stream that flowed
in the muse of an uncertain life.


The wanderer who'd return each night,
to
the cardboard cut out land,
the stench of the unwashed

hardly made her blink,
as she sang a muted song

or whistled time along.
No care, when she stooped

to grasp the odd tossed coin,
a smile would crease
her face
at thirty four she hugged
the cold of the
night.

Hot soup would tempt all her might.

from the good, the only few
who would entice

her soul into prayer.
No help she wanted but was
needed,
to proud to plea, nor understand
she went
on her way,
lost amidst the indifferent crowd.


The madness of her manner
little understood, her
democratic right
the freedom a callous illness of greed.

Just the cost of one more lonely night,
a shelter
to be found,
tossed out to start all over again,

amidst the paper chain
of lost dignity.

Theodora silently screamed.


?
Lesley Roberts 15 January 2003