written after reading angela christine brown’s poems:
“refugees”, “images of dawn, “alone” on poemhunter.com
i see a world of wounded beauty,
hear voices in the wild jungle of fear;
i sense lives adrift in wrecks of existence,
while i cuddle in my world of cheer.
she has not seen
the clean white hot of summers,
the great gray calm of quiet dawns;
her every night embraced in nightmare,
her numbered days engulfed by guns and brawn.
her heart does not speak of heaven,
of love, of tears, of laughter, even simple joy;
she speaks only of quiet refuge,
of shelter, hiding place, of home.
in meeting her i felt ashamed
of what I had always been;
chilled to my bone i saw myself
a dreamer circling in a dreamers’ world
of love, sadness, beauty, misery.
in the end i ask myself
does it matter if i care?
what matters is if i will lead
to change the world that i can see.
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