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For the Victims

For the Victims

On a crisp low-lit night,
you can find him stalking the hounds of the damned.
Lurking in the shadows,
not a sound made.
Carving a way for the refugees, the victims.
Baring the light for the seekers,
connecting the paths to ports.
The gondolier to the Venice boat,
the caboose to the locomotive,

Tall tan and slender,
built to preform,
mind over matter.
He's the silent type.
Silent in his words,
each picked precisely.
Bursting through his pours,
he seeps and climes.
Riding through the current,
keeping his head afloat,
as he leads his pack in better direction.
The wiser younger brother,
the favored pupil.

Not a fan of people,
still involved in their aid.
Not a fan of games,
still, he's ranked number one.
Changing lanes with times,
keeping a tally of misfortunes.
He's the victim of destruction.
He's the mentor of salvage.

© 2022 Francesca Caterisano

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