broken walls and narratives

A not so revolutionary blog about feminism, socialism, activism, travel, nature, life, etc.

A Poem about Toads


The toad always frowns,

With its head to the ground

And glossy brown eyes

That look a little dead.

It can barely hop.

And can barely hope.

So, it shoves it long face with worms and dirt.

It is a creature of the earth.

Its eyes never look up to the stars

Or ahead to the distant horizon

Beyond to the dazzle of the city

It sees only mud

Or walls of reeds

And only speaks in sighs of resignation.

The toad’s world is danger, tragedy, and torment.

Love is a long rejection.

Life, a tall hurdle between sleep and death.

Frogs long to be princes.

Toads just long for kisses.

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