by Latorial Faison
What do we call what
life has become, this
thing
that happens every day,
for those of us still
here,
this getting up and laying
down of sorrows, this
middle passage to gray
tomorrows where orphans
and the elderly cry and
die alone? We be sleep
walking, tongue-talking,
and teaching beatitudes
to lost sheep in search of
pastures greener than
this, while God forbids
rains and summons
droughts to hang every
one of us out to dry.
Copyrighted December 23, 2010 Latorial D. Faison
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