Cambo and others

The candle flamed and then the dark enfolded it,

taking the space from the rank room and filling

it with the sins of the rich nations who take each

glimmer of light and feed on it leaving the rest to

wrestle with the deepening dread of night and


nearby in valley of shadows someone’s sharing

a story of long ago tales, of times where treats

were not rare, and meals were met with thanks

and shared with the stumbling poor. Not one

now knows a joy of justice or the fun of fullness.


The gloom grows with grim satisfaction as the

world closes in – while keeping its largesse for

itself and still they feed the fires of greed as

once wealth takes root it feasts on flights of

fancy that it is never, ever going to be enough.


The historian looked and struggled with tears

that threatened to make pathways down her

frowning features, she read again of the 

terrible tragedy of humans who hesitated,

gave life to oil fields, who oiled their palms




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margins are a great place sometimes because it is where change happens fastest but it is also a horrible place when we are stuck in them and grace is the moment when we can see that someone cares.

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