tomorrow comes again


when you wash away the memories
and losers win again,
you can dig through the wreckage;
pieces of a puzzle of the slain.
let it all out for sorry triers;
their blood on the hard ground,
their closed doors are open,
for the helpless, worn and bound.
when tomorrow becomes a today
and today demands a choice,
remember for the poor;
you use your pen and your voice.

About Lindsay Craik

Writer & Poet Poetry, plays and short stories
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