The Poet to her young comrades 3

These are the worst of times that I have known.
I’d like to say they’ll pass, yet fear to lie.
It’s probable that some of you will die
before all this is done. Will die alone

in exile or in prison, slowly starve
die from diseases we know how to cure
be left to die from them because too poor.
Worse yet, know while you live your every breath

is stolen from those poorer. Make them count
each angry moment, live write fuck and dance.
You cannot choose your time. So take each chance
to live. Remember me. Give good account

of who I was. And make the bastards pay
who kill our world, our lives, our brief lost day.

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About rozkaveney

Middleaged, trans, novelist, poet, activist
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