Tombs no longer
washed in white
as mud and spit
gave some sight.
Darkness seen,
all must now fight
to bring day
back from the night.
The Base Heather Stroud
Obsolete: The AI Industry’s Trillion Dollar Race to Replace You–and How to Stop It Garrison Lovely
The Political Economy of Dissent Peter Blunt
What I Saw in Ukraine: 2015-2022: Diary of an International Observer Benoit Paré
At the Lost and Found: Personal & Political Dispatches of Resistance and Hope Edward Curtin
Class War, Then and Now: Essays toward a New Left Chris Wright
America's Hijacked Peace Dividend: Long Overdue and Immediately Payable John Rachel
Mind Abuse: Media Violence and Its Threat to Democracy Rose Dyson
Anthropause: The Beauty of Degrowth Stan Cox
Broken Stars: Gaza Poems Buff Whitman-Bradley
by Connor Orrico / July 19th, 2020
Tombs no longer
washed in white
as mud and spit
gave some sight.
Darkness seen,
all must now fight
to bring day
back from the night.
This article was posted on Sunday, July 19th, 2020 at 8:02am and is filed under Poetry.
All content © 2007-2026 Dissident Voice and respective authors | Subscribe to the DV RSS feed | Top
