Margin Poem

the poems of my people
(yes, sometimes even dwellers of
the realm of nowhere may,
by accident of fate or destiny,
find each other)
hold the lyric of loss
and speak in terms of sorrow
for we are at the margin
of belonging

joys that flit touch deeply
through awareness of their transience
while laughter does not dwell or linger
but visits, so briefly, on a journey
to more apt places
where mood is less precarious
and the feeling is of home

my people speak in chants
with deep voices and slow words
to resonate reminders
of the way it was yesterday
of the way it will always be

singing sadness, we celebrate
the setting of yet another sun
and the solace of night
before the new cycle of morning
and the commencement
of one more approaching loss

© Frank Prem, 2000

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