Darfur


In a dark and eerie void, she sits
her eyes in sadness play
upon the gloom amid the wrath
that wreaks the windswept day.
Bitter is her table set
for she knows that she shall have
no kindness from the passing crowd,
their eyes and hers not met.
The passion in her heart has died,
so many times betrayed
by hopes and dreams asunder
and promises delayed.
A jewel in a crown was she
a promise in a promised land
beneath clear buttermilk skies,
and now beset by anguished cries,
her soul and mind an ember,
the light that shone so long ago
she barely can remember

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