Truly, truly, I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit.
-Jesus
Today
Hope wears black
and carries a casket
of thorns.
I did not wish it to be this way.
How things change
so soon.
How Winter swallows up
Autumn
on the last night
of Summer.
I hold a plane ticket
in my hands.
Eighteen million are homeless
at my former destination.
Now 18,000 of my
cousin’s days are dead.
It all happened overnight.
I can still hear
my uncle’s voice
on the phone those
ten years ago.
I was just a kid
trying to find my way
in this world,
just a man
trying to make sense
of silence.
I see him standing
in the corner
of next week.
He too wears black,
like Hope.
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