Awakening

I died when I awoke

on the ides of January.

Little did I know

what mania could pursue

at so young of years.

 

Brother, blue and cold,

cries not on the feverish

morning of January.

Mother, screaming and hot,

tears streaming.

 

I, today, gather bearings

to help those who have

lost what I once did.

 

I awoke when I died

on the ides on January.

Little did I know

what I could pursue

at so young of years.

This poem is about: 
Me
My family
My community
My country
Our world

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