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NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:

This is the 8th poem in this series and I appreciate everyone who takes the time to read through this.

THE INSPIRATIONAL VOICE:

A refugee who didn't want to be uprooted, a home and a life. Different and yet the same as yours.

The conversation I had with her, through help was revealing. Some truths change you.

I have heard many question refugees but few question the wars that create the refugee. War will never tell on itself. War will tell you the version it wants you to hear and what justifies the act of war.

Lead Skies

written by: Beth Tremaglio

@TremaglioBeth

From lead skies I come,

Displaced,

Refugee,

this ghost from war ever aside me,

tongues greyed from sanctions shadow new cobble stone.

From lead skies I come,

no weapon of war,

rather of mind,

Images

invaders hang from the sky above,

chasing away my sun,

my mornings,

my laugher,

my home,

my child,

through frailty of body,

I screamed,

why have you come!?

suddenly a hand grabbed me,

a terrorists origin,

depths unredeemable,

laid upon dust

I closed my eyes,

prayed to lead skies above,

let me die here!

From lead skies I come,

to be wrapped in the arms of my hidden enemy

but of this I cannot tell,

what I've seen I cannot show,

here,

upon unfamiliar ground

i stand,

under the continuous lead skies of my familiar enemy.