365 Days of Poetry: Day Two-Hundred and Forty-One

From the archives.

Dead Morning

they fell.
it was about.
8AM.
on a typical weekday morning.

I sat.
too shocked for tears.
the armchair.
supporting my shock, your head.

the world.
a different place.
for you now.
born in the year when terror began.

their war.
not ours.
all I can teach.
is a way to live by peace.

we walked.
uncle sam and I.
over streets.
in a world not quite as real.

the paper.
I saved it.
but as often happens.
it was washed away in another disaster.

it dawns.
the new world order.
and we survive.
frolicking about in the pieces.

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About June Faramore

Writer of fantasy, mainstream, and young adult fiction. Poet and sketcher. Mother. I read a lot and love cheese. Guitar playing singer-songwriter. I also enjoy stepping on the cracks in the sidewalk. View all posts by June Faramore

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