Conflict · Poetry

Untitled. Or A Reporter’s Diary. (Written, 2017)

They arrive in darkness

from the depths of memory

of faraway lands

and

blood soaked streets.

Shadows move

noisily in the night.

Fingers

point accusingly

Wails

a cacophony of regret.

Dismembered,

limbless, sightless

sometimes lifeless

faces,

bodies,

voices

questioning.

Asking when I will return.

If

I will return.

I am the itinerant,

welcomed

into hollow rooms

where faith has fled.

Yet all they have

to offer me

is Faith.

Their pain

writes my story.

Their cries are

my sound-byte.

Their lives

a canvas

upon which I paint

the colors

of my choosing.

clouds of Charcoal

Crimson pavements

Blackness between

Distant stars join the chorus

lovers,

sisters,

children

lost to the skies.

Gathering like confetti

Raining

fierce,

raining,

hot.

Asking when I will return.

If

I will return.

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