Trying to make the grade . . .

I try not to see only myself, but
To look beyond, to the horizon, and
To see
The real colour of chameleons.
The cries of those who cannot speak,
The tears that blur the vision of those
Who cannot see,
For them,
There is no hardship in seeing
The real colour of chameleons.
The shouting from the voiceless,
The music that taunts the ears
Of those who cannot hear,
The time for those who are
Dying,
For them, it is easy to see
The real colour of chameleons.
Those for whom pain is an
Everyday existence, they
More than anyone, are the ones
Who can see
The real colour of chameleons.

© 2ndwitch, 18/10/14

(With thanks to Jim King, whose song 'Colour of Chameleons' inspired this poem. See http://www.jimking.me.uk)

Silver and gold.

There is no use for my body,
It is broken, and flabby, and
lacks the smooth grace that is
Demanded of it. I have failed
At the basic requirement of woman.

There is no use for my soul,
For, with a body that repels, how
Can the soul be heard to sing?
How can the sun that lurks behind
The steel-grey cloud of rain penetrate
And impregnate the silence of voice?

(2) 2ndwitch, 03/10/14

(My thanks to Drever McCusker Woomble, whose song 'Silver and Gold' inspired this poem. I do not have a url for them, but see http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wtg-k8zj03c for the song.)