People Over Politics, World Over Wealth
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Awakened from or into a nebulous scene,
I wonder if I have drawn dusk or dawn.
A cabin in the distant burns a single light.
Fog fills the valleys between stepped hills,
the birth or dearth of endless possibilities.
Do I see a first light of night, the last of day
which burns in the window on the next rise?
Will the sun rise upon a sleepless mother’s
worry over her child’s fraught fever dreams;
set upon a lonely widower longing for love?
Will the fog deepen until it appears the hills
have been taken away to be washed, returned
pristine, as though they’d never moved at all?
Will the fog burn away ‘neath the heat of our
fiery furnace, presage another sweltering day?
Will we know if this is but a regular family,
no matter the composition, parents, children.
Two moms or dads, single parents tasked with
raising girls and boys who grow into caring
women and men, who encounter challenges.
What are the thoughts of the person who lit
the lamp seen in that distant hilltop window?
Will they fight the growing problems of our
ravaged world, climate change and pollution,
face simply the chores of another night/day?
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