Existence on the fringe of civil war
insupportable but to leave almost worse –
flight the only choice to preserve life
or so they thought.
In single file they crept along the difficult terrain
through the night and through the day
trudging on for many more.
Already exhausted by the trek
when the sea came into view
their fear grew. What to do?
They’d never seen such a barrier before.
The plan was starting to unravel –
how to cross this vast expanse of water?
They met a man who spoke of rescue:
for baksheesh he would take them
in his flimsy boat, to safety on the other side,
where all would be calm and good.
They offered all they had, which wasn’t much,
begged him to accept.
One by one they clambered aboard until
the boat was jammed with humanity.
Barely afloat, the boat
was launched by their extortionist –
who remained on shore to gloat over his riches.
Current, wind and weather
took the overload to a foreign shore
where a welcome less than warm awaited
those who had survived the odyssey.
How the story ends, I do not know,
for their goal of safety shifted
as country after country argues,
stalls, debates; sends them on,
to begin again a march to they know not where.
Find other wordle poems at Brenda’s Sunday Whirl