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
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)
Writer of children's literature, short stories and poetry
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