A contribution to Ronovan’s decima challenge 38, with Bash as the prompt word on rhyme line D.


We often find ourselves ashamed
knowing we're members of a race
that barely shows a human face,
our consciousness twisted and maimed.

Uneulogised, unknown, unnamed,
the heroes of our human kin
retain this knowledge in their skin;
the reddening of cheeks abashed,
confounded dreams and ideals dashed,
condemned to darkness held within.

By Arthur Richardson

Very part time poem maker. Retired from paid work.


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