Potters Field
From Potter’s Field torches glow
Reflecting names of poor lost souls.
Hapless, hopeless, poor and tired,
Stacked on each other in silent piles.
Searching for a pathway home
To find their loved ones all alone.
The torches follow long trodden paths
Lines of people finding themselves.
An island listed on no ones map
A place in time we can’t take back.
Out history lies crying here
Alone, together, in Potter’s Field.
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