A FUTURE GLIMPSED

A FUTURE GLIMPSED

I am not content to write
About the world,
Its trade or wars,
The mass killings
And repeated tragedies.
Inside I listen to the
Quivering bellow within,
Put on the old jeans-
Not bothering to comb-
& climb the stairs
Where, above the rains
I make out a future
Calling my name.

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