Oppressed People
Their bodies stumble
through the dark,
No mist of air to keep them high...
No circling the beaten ground tonight.
Voices won’t sing,
they will not feed
on single bough of welted tree
this day.
No, not today, not later . Perhaps
when evening comes again,
someone would offer
a morsel of rice on paper; and angels
will bless their clipped wings,
to live decently free!
..................................
Written for Richard Lamoureux's PEOPLE Contest
12.11.2017
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