Dont' Trample on My Dreams

Poem by Matilda Hardman 10D

You may look at me and see an unfortunate bloke.

One whose colour had been washed away by the solitude of the streets. One whose energy had been drained by the vacuum of clouds above. That haunts him.

That haunts him like those stares

Penetrating and icy stares from the passersby.

Hearts bearing not pity but pit saws.

Pit saws of the mind that incinerate your dreams like a fire.

Wallets sealed as tight as the lips of the non-speaking commuter. But I ache not only for coins but the change I want to see in the world.

I strum the strings of my heart, Not just my guitar.

To enlighten a world that has only ever bedevilled me in darkness.

To a world only half listening.

As the human traffic absent-mindedly trundles along, Dazed by the scent of early morning coffee.

As they continue their bus stop swing to my tune.

Oh how gloomy London Town can be!

Dark and dismal on these autumn evenings. The flicker of a lamppost.

Or the flicker of an eye that turns away. An eye pretending not to spot me.

Who strides on like the others,

To sugarcoat the sour guilt

That glistens on his brow.

So walk on. Catch your train.

But please don’t taunt or tease or torment me. Or trample on my tattered hat.

For when you do, you trample on my future.

On my dreams

I’m no beggar but I beg of you thisPlease.

Don’t trample on my dreams.