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Far away from me, far away from my troubles

the leaves glow red on the ground under their trees

dying beautifully, because they’re supposed to

making us gasp with the brilliance of their death

and we cherish it, and photograph it,

and glorify the deep reds that bleed into our autumn.

 

Far away from me, far away from my troubles

the Kurdish blood flows red on the ground under the flying bullets

dying beautifully, because we left them when they needed us

making us gasp with the horror that fills our screens

and we shut off the television, and refuse to look at the photographs

and pretend the deep reds that bleed into our newsfeed

are fake

 

Far away from me, far away from my troubles

a city, many cities, set down laws for others to break

faces covered and their hearts bared

unrest, protest, dissent, fear

the colors don’t matter anymore.

Blood spills as deep a red as the maple leaves

and this autumn is full of unrest

as the colors fade into the dirt.

 

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