Congo Poem by Leslie Philibert
Congo
Weapons carried children; old eyes in young heads;
the sick pride of a bent solidarity in rows that never end;
cruel beyond understanding; the pushing of pointless borders;
a stolen childhood; games; gotcha.
and if you don`t care; there is just one thing worse
than failing as a poet; never having tried.
Friday, December 7, 2012
POET'S NOTES ABOUT THE POEM
Just before my second cup of tea I fell through the newspaper
and woke up in Congo.
and woke up in Congo.
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4/25/2024 10:07:57 AM # 1.0.0.1119
