The People of the Rubble

Sometimes,

the people of the rubble

have trouble

finding the words to

the words to

the words to

forgive us

to forgive us

to forgive us

our trespasses

to forgive us

our rose colored glasses

to forgive us

as time passes

and we’re still on our asses

staring at screens

while newscasters

help us clean

our hands

and bands play

on

and on

and on

and even

in dawn’s early light

the people of the rubble

remain out of sight

and wrong is wrong

and right is right

and the people of the rubble

are too tired to fight

too tired of fighting

too tired of biting bullets

and swallowing bombs

too tired of praying

and too tired of psalms

if you feel the need,

forgive us

and give back

our bread

and let us mourn

our dead

 

 

About soitgoes1984

I was born and raised on land stolen from the Pocumtuc. I now live on a small island in the middle of the Pacific ocean, on land that was stolen more recently, from the Hawaiians. I am addict, struggling to kick the habit of fossil fuel.
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