April 27: Refugee

by allisonkujiraoka

The poisoned wind was at our backs

as we stumbled into the headwind,

nothing to do but press forward,

only forward, when we could.

Numb to our pathetic state

Aware of it, but uncaring–

there was survival at stake.

There were destinations

we lacked the wherewithal to reach

but must, somehow.

The Promised Land

doesn’t figure into this plan.

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