Barren Fields

well, figure out yourself after reading it; inspired by a close friend of mine

no one writes for them
not really

they're too empty
too slow
too late

they kill your words
mid-flight
chew meaning
spit back noise

you see them
on benches
in doorways
in mirrors

you speak
they blink

nothing goes in
nothing comes out

everyone writes for the cracked
the bleeding
the almost-healed
the ones who clap
when the line lands clean

but these?
they don’t clap
don’t cry
don’t beg
they’re past begging

and still I do
not for them
not against them
not to save them

I write
because they exist
and someone
should fucking do it.

Hammer down hope,
ignite the flame,
where barren fields roar.

Yet, it's the land of men
who refused the rope.