Refugees
from Presence
They lock you up to keep you out of sight.
They keep you out so you do not disturb
our cosy normal busy days, but herb
of grace is rue, sorrow bitter to bite.
We see your faces everywhere, your desperate
crawl through rat-infested sewage pipe,
leap across lethal rail; nothing can curb
that urgent dare drown, burn or suffocate.
I didn’t invite you but you’ve got to me;
I can’t exclude your presence from my mind,
roaring for justice or a still small voice.
You won’t allow me my complacency.
You infiltrate my idleness with scent
of a sage order, taste of common peace.
Page(s) 46
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- Staple
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