Wading
the muck caked onto bare shins bloodshot eyes straining to see through the thick fog. Trembling fingers draw and strike a match from thin pockets, the meek flame flares and dies out.
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Machines whirring overtime
Fingers darting and deftly maneuvering A needle pricks a misplaced finger tip Sweat mingles with tears mingles with blood. A grand haul of dimes at the end of the month Children mingle with elders, toiling side by side. Frosted glass windows stay shut, trapping heat from the flickering fluorescent illumination of the darting needles. In and out and in and out and in and out sewing shirts for America. Dust specks float in the artificial light.
A tan glow seeps in through drawn blinds Heads nod, dipping and snapping back into place. Glazed eyes struggle to stay open while pencils skritch on college ruled. Outside, the world blossoms. Inside, the stale air thickens. Closing throats already stuffed with state-mandated curriculum pin drops drowned out by the Ticking Clock Pounding, resounding ticks resonating through drowsy skulls. Where does the light go when it leaves?
Reaching out and grasping at nothing Hoping that this time my hands will find a rung to a ladder that will carry me out of this pit. Raindrops
are so close to tear drops, Who are we to distinguish? We get angry, when it rains. When we rain, others get angry. To some, the sky weeps in fellowship. The worlds tears mingle with our tears, and so wash away our sorrows. My flag flies at half mast
My light is dwindling Cranes lift hopes high up above the construction site of my heart. The cold seeps into my bones piercing deeper with every passing hour. I am lost, losing myself. The birds chirping no longer delight my fancies. Sepia is overtaking my vision. Once vivid scenes overtaken by the rollings fogs of my mind. But I have two hopes still lifted. My lantern pierces the fog and the lighthouse marks my destination with its beam off in the distance. Better days lie ahead. Tendrils of moss and jungle.
Reaching down, spindly fingers brushing up against my spine. Sweat droplets meandering down my back glistening in the canopy sun, gleaming in desperation, an emergency mirror signal in the wild. Targeted, stalked by the jungle cats of my past. Mistakes make the meat tender. I'm a delicacy. The undergrowth snaps and caresses my toes, beneath bare souls, a living carpet. A tapestry of hopes, dreams, and weaknesses mourned. Collapsing now, insects explore my prone, trembling skin. The hot breeze caresses and prods. Visions of beaches in tropical paradises. Pushed away by the piercing bite of fire ants and I am writhing, screaming out in anguish, begging to make it stop, begging for an end. The screeches of birds ring in my ears. Snaps. Lunch break. Inquisitive faces. Are you ok? Just dozed off, I'm fine. Pinpricks staining the white silk sheets
Crimson flowerings Marring the pure snow bedspread Flesh exposed Dripping red Slowly pooling and gathering A strained grin, screaming eyes dim Hope ebbing and draining We are the living. Bleached from the unkempt sun,
Years since the life drained from its eyes One of thousands, the herd beaten and chased into remission A trail of bones tells stories Wind whipping and howling through skulls Singing the songs of the dead Weeping with the mothers Shawls stained and bitten by the crisp wind Capes flapping in the wind Flags flying high Tamed and conquered Flags dripping blood Skulls adorned in full war paint Crimson in life and in death Warriors till the end Poked prodded and herded to their deaths Resolute in the warriors way Marching till legs gave out and feet bled and marching on still Spirits undefeated Their are no shackles in death. |
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