Leftover people

This is life’s end: their bodies twisted and starved,
Cramped on a dry mouth. Black
Eyed shadows of clouds exploding rain,
Whitened faces of the drowning;
Bodies gloomy in a dump of mud,
An unforgiving country slapped your foot-soles
And your cries, all night you crawled
And swallowed the dust; now you breathe canvas
In a sea of tents, your call for help rolled
Into the doom noise of the dying.

Dirt cliffs are edged with bloated children, fingers
Embroidered in starvation; death walks among
Them, dangles the bone shells,
He knows their time, but no refugees know;
The earth turns now, a minute, an hour,
Souls turning in the soil, soon they’ll be free.
The worms walk among them,
Stuffing their mouths with dirt, the world says a prayer
But sheds no tears; the tent city soon a barren land,
Tattered canvas blowing in a dull wind.

Copyright © 02/20/18 lance sheridan®

Leftover people

Advertisements