the brown and orange sky holds its breath
as the sun retreats to the distant horizon
and our hearts palpitate anxiously as we soon will lay supine
and wait for sleep to overcome us
and from somewhere in our black
subconscious minds when we re asleep
comes a haunting swelling mass of voices
resonatingits screams of forgotten victims and the cries of innocence
and the desperate plea for recognition and recompense
tiny voicesechoes of our heritage
our long and sallow faces turn the other way
tiny voicesharbored deep within
as we outwardly deny that they have something to say
and if we don t confront them they will never go away
the billions of tiny pinhole embers fade into a morning sky
filled with poignant morose wonder
waking a bear a cosmetic peace that verifies the turmoil
which we carry deep inside.

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