Where do Orphans go to burn?
The children, awake as they shake stillness from their wooden cots,
Hide remnants of their ignorance, beneath the tangled threads of a shagged sheet.
Through the holes of what once a stranger’s robe,
Unfamiliar, yet the only family they’ve ever known,
Their eyes fixate on the twinkling sky; the only time their heads held high.
And the stars in splendor catch their disillusioned gaze,
As they reminisce a light that once was.
The children, who never sleep, would watch, watch the scarlet streamers
Dance, leap across the crooked cracks as the fiery pit awaits its cue.
The roof, heavy with miseries, stretches its arms to embrace them,
Falling into the blackness of their eyes, it falls forever.
In their beds, warm for the first time, a warmth they never knew existed,
They burn––quietly, content, alone––
Their only comfort; teddy bears with broken arms.
And for once the pain of internal wounds cease their pounding.
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