By J Ann Crowder

They are the banished and branded; a convey of stateless exiles
 
Castoff like stones plucked into wondering oceans
 
Coalesced,
 
Fleeing
 
Indignantly hunted
 
Escaped from war; warriors torn and tossed on wrathed seas
 
Affected émigré
 
Lost
 
A home stolen
 
A nation ruined
 
_____
 
Alas,
 
Looking inside
 
I too am a refugee
 
A castaway amidst angry, discontented waves of storm
 
In need of a lifeboat
 
Longing for a piteous hand; a prudent arm indulgent, merciful, and forebearing
 
In sorrow I stowed away, searching rapport upon bands stretched tight near a trapped door; I fell into a gall
 
I searched agile winds
 
As they do,
 
The refugees
 
Longing for their Ruth of benignity and goodwill
 
As they writhe, thus laid low upon thirsty deserts
 
Contused and afflicted
 
Should I not then seek a philanthropist’s summit?
 
Bending towards pity of soul
 
Of such is great capacity to feel another’s ache and sorrow
 
Thus found on Golgotha’s hill
 
Thus found residing in a sacred tomb
 
Thus found, resurrected upon a heavenly hearth, within the resounding chasms of Gathsemane
 
_____
 
At the supper table of sinners may we abide
 
Where compassion resides and hearts learn such benignity of Ruth
 
For we are all digging our way out from identical muddy holes
 
Longing, with bleary eyes, to rest our heads beneath sparing skies

Interpretation is left up to the reader. Written May 11th, 2016.

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