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Writer's picturenflanagan210

Night of November 5

Time is still for now

Dead as the wind

Silently lurking

Beneath the deadened leaves.


Outside is quiet with anticipation

I am sat by my window

Wondering how the hate

always seems to catch up

with the love.


Tomorrow is rich with power,

This sleep feels like a betrayal.

When the sun strikes through the blinds,

And the headlines roll through,

The sidewalks will ignite with passion.

It could be fury, I hope it’s relief.


————


Tomorrow has come, and the next day as well, I am sitting in my sorrow calling up my sister and my girl friends.

We share in our grief and anger

Our frustration, confusion, our fear.


The next day is here, still eerily warm, what if nothing can ever be the same?

What if our bodies are always nothing but a political campaign?


While my parents erupted in joy 200 miles away, I cried and I mourned in the numbing realization—corrupt men always prevail.

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