Dreams still keep Dreaming....?
There are words dripping down my fingers Black rivulets of ink mixed with the blood of your countrymen Do you hear them mourn? Do you hear them march on? Carrying bags of tears & terror, Cradling the memory of a mother’s empty arms Wailing for her children, Do you see those pictures hanging on pedestals? Adorned in medals of death And beautified in flowers of loss, And do you see the widow…













