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Jan 2016
What it must be like, I barely can recall
How pebbles wedged themselves
In the skins of those living low in makeshift huts
Mountain climbing garbage heaps.

I am wounded by the blunt service of time
Grimacing through each difficult decision
Allowing others to sip of my life / to derision /
Naught a possible sliding door for my dreams...

Now if you were to travel through the dust
The ransacked tin and bamboo blocks
Third world in third person living conditions
Notice how the children still play

They know no other day or way to grow,
But like the grass through concrete cracks
Which reach for the sky and sunlight,
Life finds a way to go on, blind to all the wrong.

I hardly remember, more often than not,
How it was - to chase the devil through the crux
Pass the alleys where girls lost their wishes
And what it was like to want the strength to defend them...

A red rubber ball is rare to see among the boys
The simple toy that bounces with enlivened joy
But they share it in the momentsΒ not forsaken,
Lifting away the weight of their reality as lesser saints

Laughter cannot Don on a mask
It is how God brings the brilliance of hope
What it must be like...

Listening to cherubs laugh.
Butch Decatoria
Written by
Butch Decatoria  47/M/Las Vegas, Nevada, USA
(47/M/Las Vegas, Nevada, USA)   
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