24 April 1915-2015
Tomorrow morning’s late...
did they forget to dream...
When last they closed their eye?
Could they tell their fate?
the line from truth to lie
is a desert in which to die
Did their eyes look high
At an unrepentant Sky?
Did the last beat of their heart
believe in Annunciation?
or the kindness of a god
that forgets its own creation?
Tomorrow morning’s late
their fate became a rhyme
memory to the human race
born of its worst disgrace
from its cruelest belief
from the wounds of crime
from the womb of grief:
it is the theft of time…
Tomorrow morning’s late...
did they forget to dream...
When last they closed their eye?
Could they tell their fate?
the line from truth to lie
is a desert in which to die
Did their eyes look high
At an unrepentant Sky?
Did the last beat of their heart
believe in Annunciation?
or the kindness of a god
that forgets its own creation?
Tomorrow morning’s late
their fate became a rhyme
memory to the human race
born of its worst disgrace
from its cruelest belief
from the wounds of crime
from the womb of grief:
it is the theft of time…
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