(February/'47 / Connecticut, USA)

They Wade

They wade.
In their own upheaval.
They wade.
To then say it's faith,
That one day will fade...
From them to go away.

They wade.
Blinded by disbeliefs.
Hoping from up above,
Angels will float down...
Announcing they've brought,
Halos, wings and relief from grief.

But the people won't stop,
Themselves from a doing of evil.
Or stop,
Their agitating just to provoke.
And can't see,
What they do to leave behind...
Comes right back to them in time.
With a doing to sicken their minds.
To find,
They wade.
In testimonies of woe.
They wade.
In a moaning that grows.
Overflowing nonstop wherever they go.
They wade.
Adorned in masquerade.
Afraid to admit,
All the mess they have made.
They wade.
Everyday in accusations,
Made.
Everyday in accusations,
Made.
Everyday in accusations,
Made.
They wade.

They wade.
Praying with a faith,
They say.
Will undo what they've done,
To chase all their blues away.
One day!

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