Reckoning (a poem)

in halls of power,

they sit in towers

away from us

on ground level –

high in clouds

sunlight is pure

not so for poor &

weary travelers

spending hours

digging ditches to bury

dead, killed

by diseases,

shedding skin like

snakes, baking

in desert valleys –

come November

there will be reckoning

no peaceful transfers

of power

in horrid hours

(Photo by Chris Yang on Unsplash)

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