Haiti

Writer's Note: Thanks to Hannah I feel better about putting this work up.  I mentioned earlier that I had a strange feeling about my poem.  I have no idea why I had this feeling and what it ment exactly, but I guess it doesn't matter anymore. And Hannah, I did get rid of most of my "then's."   :)
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I Walked the Bloody Streets
By: Ally-Cat
[Original]

In the air there was dust and the smell of flesh.
The dust clung to the ground and would not disperse.

Yet, I walked.

I walked the bloody streets.
Streets that were covered with debre,
and bodies of every sort.
The bodies.
Mangled.
Beaten.
Dead.
So many.

So much blood.

I saw it all.

I saw people who had lost their hopes;
the little that they had.
I saw broken dreams and dying happiness.
I saw "fools" who had faith in good comings, staring blankly up into the sky: Why?
I saw the once prideful of the little they had look to the ground, expressionless: shamed.
I saw beauty fade, and the harsh truth glare at me straight in the eye. 
Then I knew:

We may never reach the light.


Shall it always be far from grasp?
We may be stuck in this deep, darkened pit,
clawing and struggling to climb out, but falling roughly to the bottom,
defeated at last.

I stumbled.

My steady pace interupted by the truth.

I fell.

I laid there, refusing to pull myself up, for what was there to do after?
There was no hope,
and not a sign of any life.
Prayer was of no good.
My faith was dissolving with every intake of breath.

As if on que, I saw it.
There it was.
Maybe my mind was toying with me, but it truly looked real.

The light.

I saw the light through the dust and grime.

I sat up.

This was my sign.
This was my hope.
Faith was renewed.

I heard the voices.
Crys that were desperate for a sign of life.
I couldn't let them be disappointed.

I stood.

Stronger now.
I took the first step;
my first step to salvation.

A tear streaming down my face.

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Please give whatever you can to the people of Haiti. 

~Ally-Cat