By Kwame Dawes | Posted: August 02, 2005
Lines
White lines
stretched on black
they wait in silence;
it is pre-dawn.
Above, the storm gathers;
this is a nightmare
drawn in fingers
stained with charcoal,
smudging away the flames.
They return stark
the white of the page
resisting the brush of dark.
White flames lick;
the village is eaten.
"Lines" is from Requiem, Kwame Dawes' 5th publication.
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