I don’t write poems
I am possessed by the them
I speak for those that are otherwise silent
I speak for the nonviolent
I write as witness to those hemmed in on all sides
Because no matter how hard we try
We’re buried beneath the pyramids
Scrolling prayers to the golden calf
In the face of such absurdity
All one can do is laugh
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Comments (1)
where is the fire, should it not include fire. poem is great though.