A Thousand Miles and Running

Bitter cold that bites,
Worlds stuffed into bags
then cramped with boxes,
Over the rattle of roads and
untamed, reckless waves,
A thousand miles passed
from the rubble in the hills
once called home and now
a stronghold
by foreign reporters on TV;
Today, on alien ground
where tired grey rain
falls around incomprehensible words,
peppered with venom,
fears felt before return
as hope is replaced by
outright rejection,
written in scary headlines,
after a thousand miles,
and still running.



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