Talk of the Killing

We’re quiet but becoming irate, quite tired of the world,
of the bustling brash humans on display, if only for each other.

Stop the nonsense, the violence, the bloodshed for the sake
of shedding blood. There’s enough blood flooding the streets,
lining the cradles of our children’s dreams. I am a peaceful one.

I come with the silence, when the dying lay down and the living rise up
with names in their mouths to meet the dawn, armed with pens and paper.

Join us in looping cursive, in the dusty rooms lit by candlelight.
Join hands across tables and graves, make room for the anger and pain.
Tell us why the killing has come again.

Spill your stories into our ears.
We are here to listen, to hear, and to see– to truly see you.

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