| Weary footsteps lead me to sleep the sleep of release
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| I bore witness to the tragedy
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| War-torn storm surge
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| Flood waters; |
| waves of death visions of bodies drifting hysteria fills the eyes
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| of these streets and I fade into slumber.
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| In the hopes that I forget a fragment more of memory’s ball and chain.
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| Thoughts of, «Was I part of the reason we are all in disarray?»
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| «Is there blood on my hands cursed by mistakes?».
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| After a sleepless night I wander these desperate early morning streets.
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| Street corner poet preaching her figures and features reaching raise like a
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| beacon saying, «We're forsaken, but not broken!»
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| Then I heard her sing:
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| «Mother, your children are dying as the city sleeps!
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| Mother, your people are starving tonight!»
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| «Mother, your children are dying as the city sleeps!
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| Mother, your people are drowning in your apathy!»
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| Despair has a face familiar to the city’s pace.
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| You can see it in their eyes I have come to know the price of neglected hearts.
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| A daily reminder to ponder with every single breath we take.
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| The suffering remains.
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| There’s people filled with hate.
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| How long must we maintain?!.
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| The cities war-torn face cradles the wounded, pleading for rescue.
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| Replace the city streets with blood and debris.
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| Drag the waters for broken homes.
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| Featureless landscapes;
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| This is true devastation!
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| This is true devastation!
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| And their protest voices raise over explosions, pleading:
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| «Mother, your children are dying as the city sleeps!
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| Mother, your people are starving tonight!
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| «Mother, your children are dying as the city sleeps!
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| Mother, your people are drowning in your apathy!» |