August 25 in the Future

nothing manifests itself in a procession of

longdrawn children perched in rows along

redbricked cliffs

watching

strangers without sleeping bags

mouths silent with no words

their hands

the children’s hands

lay empty on barren rock

leaves from deadwinded trees

flutter to fall unnoticed on dried earth

 

longdrawn fluttered faces in a row

oh children

what happened to make you so lost

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