ON THE PRECIPICE OF OUR TIME

by Jesús Papoleto Meléndez

                that Love gives

               when one

            has a job,

to give

   now, to live

    is more than a daily

     human struggle,

   rather

     truly,

        only the fittest

    survive,

   to drink

  of the vine,

        from where flows

        the wine,

     fermented

    in blood

        of those tormented

in shame,

           left walking the streets

 without names

      along

         the long

 shadows,

             cast down

 as a frown

from statues

         they once erected

            of those

   they elected,

now walk

   without shoes…

©Jesús Papoleto Meléndez

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