As I slept, seeing strange dreams
of mortality a step from nightmares,
death will have stalked the bloodstained
rubble in Gaza, entire families now
under cement blocks or white shrouds,
a true nightmare that I will avoid
encountering for now, writing
poems about the things life
should be about, of dropped
pens and what that leads to,
entangled, warm bodies, not
dropped bombs and crushed
bodies with all the warmth of life
gone from them with blood.
06.06.2024
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