Social Justice Poetry

Death on the Wire | A Social Justice Poem by Ken Allan Dronsfield

A smoky haze rising higher,
smell of hell, in refugee fields,
dead chatter; stuck in the wire,
ode to the brave, body shield.
Earth explodes in trees of dirt,
knife won’t cut, the metal strand
grips my legs, to numb, to hurt
strangling spirit, in deep sand.
I go for food, to the valley below;
my wife and family are so hungry
I’ll gladly share all I found there,
just release me from this slavery.
Let me go, captor of my soul,
I wish to breathe, no, don’t fire.
Send me back to that bad camp
don’t leave me in this barbwire.

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