Rubble courtesy of unrwa.org
But now they are rubbish in the wind blown
Forgotten and taken far away
Is it any wonder we wish the end this day?
And yet we live in forlorn hope
Give us a chance to tread tightrope
To hold something close to the heart
Before the fatal fall, beyond the start
Yet rubble we all sadly become
Under this dry old hidden sun
No comfort from warm souls
Just death’s icy fingers, boring two-fold…
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Posted in: Poetry
Posted on October 11, 2015
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