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Poetry || SubmissionsIn Passing by Michael EilanThe cup isn't empty And isn't full And isn't mixed And isn't fixed Because it isn't a cup. All of that red blood congeals, becomes sticky, and turns black. Us and we went to war Rolled around the dirty floor Tossed our gut into the air And said that life wasn't fair. Both fear and prayer are physical activities with different names. And we say that life Is not about marketing parking spaces for allotted spans But are so scared of hope's flat, agnostic eye That we ignore the way people die. Michael Eilan lives in the Galilee. You can write to him c/o eilan@datasphere.co.il Today's Situation
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