They tiptoed into my sleep wearing dusty clothes and no shoes. They tried to not let me hear them but the little girl put forth a giggle and the boy laughed, too. Soon the whole room teetered in merriment. A while passed and a hush fell around us; a silent prayer, save for the short breaths of the children; petite puffs in search of a throat. There were nearly twenty in the group. They had been searching for years but were always met with sideways glances, and oftentimes violence. They smelled like sand. They were gentle. I sensed they’d come for my help, but knew not what I could do. The looks on their faces; the pain. The anguish... The truth... The little boy now began to cry, followed soon after by the little girl. Then, like rain, we all began to weep. Our crying grew into an unexpected howl; a sorrowful choir of wingless angels... and a great wall of water crashed down upon us dropping from the shattered roof of heaven... Copyright © 2006 mrp / thepoetr
(The Weaver's Song)