But the muse of my poems will lighten up issues,
And like the church bells around you to remind you of the time.

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hands disappearing
into hands…
we leaves the sites
of graves untended,
walking towards life,
with both grief and joy!
the smoke still lingers,
and the smell of wet ashes.
but we are more,
we choose to be more!
faces long lost
gather purpose, and names,
as blood becomes,
our peace and our striving!

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merely skin tints!
Americans, and Middle
Eastern people,
worship…
not different gods,
but different understandings
of the same god!
and common people,
all around the world,
have worked too long,
for too little,
are tired of being numbers,
numbers without faces!
tired on being enslaved,
being treated as possessions….
for they have faces!
faces with hearts,
hearts with spirits,
spirits made of flesh!

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