A Change of Hands
Erin Maurer
You keep pulsing the beat to which they trek,
Acting not as the soldier in the fore-
Front, but the hidden cannon in the back-
Ground. Why are you constricting evermore?
The break once set by the peak of the light
But taken over by a crowing from
Afar in the distance. Now black marks might
Sit upon white: awaiting hands to come.
I just wish I knew more, is it wrong
To ask? Is there really reason? Or rhyme?
How must it feel to have been all along?
Keep thinking! Someone needs to know this time.
Let's buy more. Go investigate the crime
Running out. I wish I could stop this time.
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