A State of Occupation © 2018
Foreigners, dwelling upon the muddy earth, hopes are waning far behind the promises for a better tomorrow…sinking, always sinking, into the abyss of each failing poem trampled into the mud-spattered ground. Everyone has a future to write upon the dirty pages of history’s dawn.
Contorted faces and hungry eyes, wet to the touch from a rain-soaked night, living in tents that wash away at the silence from beyond this border front.
Fingertips perched upon rusty wire, a heavy-gauge I would presume, detailed by four – inch bars squared, haven’t we seen this somewhere before?
Papers ready to the eye, yet, melting in this misty day of dreams gone by.
Blankets always at the ready. The massive grays of cumulus clouds to release its deluge upon flesh and ground, as the pains of hunger felt from a child of Syrian descent, as he sets before him a simple soup, diluting in the drivel of murky rain.
Children screaming, panic grows real, and the world left frightened to grant their passage into the annals of a historical novel. Have we (humanity), any last requests?
Why, fear has crept into our minds, ‘occupied’ until our hearts become roses in time.
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