David Hurtado         Wordsmith

Tomorrow is wrapped in a sunrise promised to us, too.

Because we were made by the same hands as you.

But today we burn alive among our Olive trees.

As faceless shadows hunt across a sky stained by smoke.

 

They dig a grave for us to share while you sleep.

Like we're pawns to be swept from a chessboard.

How long will you watch with eyes wide shut?

Are you blind to our anguish without The Press?

 

When their bombs fall our backs bend low.

As if in prayer to a god who abandoned our trust.

Then, in a breath, molten light swallowed the air.

Where I held my family so tight was dust.

 

I looked up from the dirt and found them in the sky.

And reached out with stumps to gently catch them.

They fell beside the rubble we once called home.

So we crawl to each other, letting it be our goodbye.

 

Now I stare into their fading eyes

and their hearts slow with mine.

But one day our people will rise

in a land of peace and sunshine.