A cross by the street that is bleeding all day
A moon that is dulled by smokes of dismay
The lotus is dead in a still pond of grief
Murder, murder, fanatic belief.
Home with no dad, he lies at work dead
Life without ma, she wouldn’t drape head
Hungry he searches vain through the nights
His brimming eyes aided by flickering streetlights.
The end of the world is perhaps not yet near
But much of it drowned in his fallen tear.
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1 comment:
Poignant and very moving.
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