Erik Johansson
By
Linda M Crate
thinking of an escape plan
i am anxious
for the future
wondering if my
ancestors
ever had to face
battles like we are today,
were they subjected
to worse?
perhaps,
they were foreigners
from wales, germany, and england;
so i don’t know
i heard the irish had it the worst
of all that came here;
i glance at heaven
praying for better days—
are we all going
to survive?
is something i worry about on a constant
basis,
and i don’t remember politics
being half this important
to me before;
yet as i stand here beneath the kind arms of trees
where peace always finds me
i find even uncertainty
creeps here
so i must throw my roots into the creek
wash away
begin again in some new way.
i still believe in goodness
when their worlds
all crash around them,
and as the rubble
falls;
do they remember hope
or do they tremble
with fear?
i want to think there was
someone waiting for them
to hold them, to brush away their tears
that they were not left alone
bleeding and broken or
dead;
my heart grieves that others should have
to suffer whilst men turn a blind eye to all they
must endure—
i know they are strong,
but no one should be forced to live through
such a horrible witness and i want to tell them everything
will be okay but i don’t even know what’s going
on in my own country;
just praying that everything will be okay for us all
i do believe there’s good in this world.
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