Don't burn the flag. Wash it!
This is the new blog...CONFESSION ZERO
They tiptoed into my sleepWearing dusty clothes and no shoes.They tried to not let me hear themBut the little girl put forth a giggleAnd the boy laughed, too.Soon the whole roomTeetered in merriment.A while passed and a hush fell around us;A silent prayer,Save for the short breaths of the children;Petite puffs in search of a throat.There were nearly twenty in the group.They had been searching for yearsBut were always met with sideways glances,And oftentimes violence.They smelled like sand.They were gentle.I sensed they’d come for my help,But knew not what I could do.The looks on their faces;The pain. The anguish... The truth...The little boy now began to cry,Followed soon after by the little girl.Then, like rain, we all began to weep.Our crying grew into an unexpected howl;A sorrowful choir of wingless angels...And a great wall of water crashed down upon usDropping from the shattered roof of heaven...
Copyright © 2006 mrp / thepoetryman