Exiles
A. Z. Foreman
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Through dusk’s torn veil, where borders bleed to none,
A thousand shadows shuffle, lose their names.
The road is ash, the sky a loaded gun,
Its stars reciting grief in silent claims.
No gate holds fast, no wall can bar the weight
Of feet that drag the heart through mud and stone.
The voice of home, a ghost, begins to grate,
Its cadence cracked by winds that wail alone.
None fleeing know if dawn will grant them rest,
None reaching ports can swear they’ll be received.
Yet still they march, sealed in their fragile quest,
To chase a warmth no map has yet believed.
The earth devours their steps, their songs, their cries,
And spits them out where nowhere meets the skies.
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A. Z. Foreman is a linguist, poet and/or translator pursuing a doctorate in Near Eastern Languages at the Ohio State University. His work is featured/forthcoming in the Threepenny Review, Los Angeles Review, and ANMLY, but not yet the Starfleet Academy Quarterly. He wants to pet your dog.
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Posted in Finding Home and tagged in #boudin, #poetry