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Marbled Faces

Somewhere,
somehow,
someone
doesn't make it.
Suffer the world.
Suffer the children.
Suffer the little intricate moments
that form inter connection and hopeless
dances with the nasal passages that breathe in air.
We can't help it.
We fight religion and form
philosophical debates formed on chance
recognition of miracles seen in the naked eye.
we hope. we don't hope.
we pray.
we beg.
Somewhere,
somehow,
some way
someone
won't make it another day.
Then we ponder.
Pull out biblical texts
switch out to the Qur'an and shadow
the beauty of Buddhism. We wonder.
We think of theism and anti-theism,
we entertain the thought
of being without it
and squeal in delight.
No one knows.
Each face
a marbled reincarnation
of their tombstone to be.
We claim to gain higher ground
with those stricken with cancer
vow to find a vaccine
that can cure heart disease
campaign against drunk driving
and work on an imaginary war on drugs
where soldiers themselves
fight to get high.
somewhere,
somehow,
someone
won't make it.
scythe ready, implored to balance the scales
the ruler of nothing
claims another skin covered
guest to his party.
Death,
a comfort to many
avoidance to none
lays claim
to another day.

-b.r.rivera
#30in30
Poem 16 of 30


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