Will they Triumph?

An old, deep, dark pulse
follows the straight rows,
Pounding and raw as
torches light an early night.

Howls are heard above the
tired clouds of summer and
blend with the heat –
Oppressive, humid, sickening.

Tides pull slowly and echo.
Waves, gradual, patter the
island as it wades
through shallow waters, alone.

Stone cages call out for
waters to rise and rise and
drown the black skies and
bury the bleak parade.

An old, deep, dark pulse
follows the straight rows,
Pounding and raw as
torches light an early night.

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