Refuge

Ten thousand miles or more,

You travel from your front door,

Left erect at your ruins,

Crumbled and scorched by war.

Ten thousand screams or more,

From mothers and baby caw,

Fleeing wicked men,

And depravities they have in store.

Ten thousand minutes or more,

You drift without sail and oar,

The traffickers aren’t paid to care,

As sharks circle hungrily for gore.

Ten thousand and no more,

Processed at the harbour,

Pleading for asylum,

Seen as a bureaucratic chore.

The locals paint slurs on your door,

And blame you for their poor,

They remind you of those men,

Not ten thousand miles away anymore.

#HI