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.

Poem Submitted: Friday, December 7, 2012
Poem Edited: Friday, December 7, 2012

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Poet's Notes about The Poem

Just before my second cup of tea I fell through the newspaper
and woke up in Congo.

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