Clenched Fists
by d. steine
Mother Heaven,
What sadness has the winds
Carried to your clouds?
They are full, dark and mournful,
Their cold tears fall from their many eyes
That mortals such as I remain
Beneath covers
Attempting to contain
The remaining warmth
Your crying children are stealing
From my clenched fists
Who remember and hungers
For the colors and textures
Who were once citizens, friends and lovers
Of my now sepia tinted memories.
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