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 a single blade of welted grass this day. No, not today, not later . Perhaps when evening comes again, the angels will bless clipped wings, live free! . Sparks explode on piercing skies, to drown upon the basement halls. A knife, more cannons , so keenly edged, glimmer bright-- Soon, real soon, the red will run. People's imprints fade to dust where oppression sets sail unto vicious land; time gnawing holy prayers to mumbled speech: an end to things to all that’s bitter-sweet. A simple wish, a dream, reality? How do cries know the which from which? But death comes and goes hat in hand, sometimes, victims begging pain. Sometimes, it hits so desperately, forgets to skip a beat or take the courage to fight the evil terrorism wields? .................................. Written for Richard Lamoureux's PEOPLE Contest 12.11.2017