365 Days of Poetry — Day 85

We are surrounded by the sirens of maternal cries.
The ashes have fallen, keep falling, and black are the skies.
Fear and panic arises in the eyes of the helpless spectators;
Shock numbs hands, arms, legs, and heart, unable to more forward.

These are the days of our people:
We are broken and chaotic, all running from the steeple.
No one sees the sun that disrupts the black,
And everyone runs aimlessly, gripping their hungry past.

-Brittany Rose

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