Is it the hunger of children
that brings the beast to prowl.
Crying out the souls of poverty as
sticks and stones lay down their head.
Salty tears drying just below
the eyes of today’s forgotten,
dripped onto the little feet
without footprints to follow.
Callused soles of traveled miles,
rubbed into the distain of nothingness,
from thick leather boots stepping
on the fear of the lost children.
Copyrighted: 2018 CMM
Cleaning my desk,
I opened an envelope stuffed
with keepsakes, cards, letters.
Crinkled against time, some tattered
with wear, I saw an old familiar address.
Pulling it from the pile was like pulling
a friend from the reservoirs of memories.
I opened it, the dust had settled on his words
as ashes and sand settled on his grave.
He had written to tell me that he was diagnosed
with cancer …
He reflected in ink, spilling his frozen moments
of time on the paper, as he waits for the rest of his treatments.
Slipped in the envelope was a picture he had taken
of a seagull taking flight.
It was this, the lost letter, I had looked for
© CMM 2013