The ache starts in my gut,
wrenching the past into soluble dreams
that mix with pain into churning,
burning with desire, yearning.
It spills out in bloody bile,
a million souls in a torrent of screams—
here for justice, there for bread—
fed with crushing wait instead.
The ache bleeds to my heart,
dissolving the future in polluted streams
that seep into my body’s earth:
dearth of life, void of worth.
It stiffens me in rigor’s grip,
a billion souls lose a war of extremes—
here of peace, there of breath—
breathless, until love conquers death.
– MWP 2014 (Advent)