It has been raining
all day long, soaking the dirt,
turning it to mud
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When Day Becomes Night (a poem)
when day becomes night
people tuck into beds
drop their heads
on puffy pillows & blankets
back from coal mines & factories
of fear, soaked in mud
smeared with oil of
dire times –
they were once in their primes
these working men & women
but now bones hurt
spines shatter
blood splatters
when day becomes night
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Valley of Shadows (a poem)
He traversed the valley for days
seeking the ancient one who’d provide
nourishment to his ailing soul
words from a holy mouth that
would unlock secrets of his inner-being –
sloshing through thick mud, the traveler perceives him
through the fog –
the figure of the ancient man
glowing, golden in the valley of shadows.
(Photo by John Joumaa on Unsplash)
