Jan 10
zazu's picture

rise

The sun had smiled down on you, 
But not kindly.
It burned your face with a hard fire, as you worked outside all day.
It left it's mark,
A scorching red that ran from your neck up to your forehead.

As I imagine an eskimo out in the Artic, their nose irritated and frost bitten with the cold.
You work tirelessly every day, you where your wounds without shame.
I wish everyone did that.
I wish everyone excepted eachother's differences, instead stead of freting over their neighbors imperfections.
But it isn't enough to wish...
In a night without stars.