Morning, hidden by smoke haze, weakens resolve
after sins no dreams could resolve.
An anger so deep and profound,
the pain of our loss deadens the sound
of hurt and betrayal in silence, tightly bound.
Anger and fear choke the woke
whose only sin is that truth should abound
and evil be run to the ground,
and that love can be felt all around;
that every child can live in hope
in a country where fear has been defeated
and guns are no longer needed
to feel safe
on this morning,
in this space
where I wake mourning.
I wake. I am woke.
I keep moving
to a place where we
shall overcome
again
and again
and again.
Good Mourning !
annarino writes 