Let It Kinda Ring

Vintage Words


Open please, the sign read

as the body of the baby rested

on the shore, washed up on shore. 

The world no longer valid or

capable of rendering help without

the correct processed forms. 


Help, the sign read in big letters,

held up by a teenage boy as his mind

rebelled against expectations not met.

This is how it feels when entering

a new place, a new room. No familiar

sensation of welcome and home. But

not exactly like that. As the boat

was towed ashore, the man held his

dead teen age boy and wept. 


Free us, the protest sign declares

but there is little freedom available,

only selfish obligation, and cold

responsibility. Bright eyed they enter

new places never entered before;

hands out thinking everyday means

more refugees looking for space

in a new home in any new land.







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