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When help is not on it’s way

David Van Bebber Jr.

Sweat dampens my back
the hot carpet I lay on.
Above me the fan wobbles slowly
as it pounds the ceiling with it’s off balance momentum
rocking like an out of balance wheel on a rusted out station wagon.
Somehow it limps its way along.

I attempt to calm this inner storm.
But it’s just as attempting peace in a war ravaged country
where bodies are spread through the streets,
amongst the buildings scattered remains.

Tears come when hope doesn’t.

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