As you write you are hundreds.
Become the thief, murderer, and sacrificed.
You stand at the crossroads,
leading the sheep
and angry bulls.

Feel for the nemesis, 
Feel for the grandfather --
their fluttering leaves of childhood worries. 
You must feel from the heart for the sad.

"Help Us"
**** Them"
You stand with one foot on each side
of that line drawn in the sand
with chalk. 

Write, because in the pages
a rose is a poison, a city is a flower,
and the truth can leak from the pages,
and the fingers of the reader will absorb
and carry the truths to the heart.


Poppy P. 
8/24/14