the color, swirling: chaos as an infant –
the mass-produced hysteria of violence —
abaft the swarth of what’s gone in an instant,
we stand astride – aside? – and keep our silence
as fairylands go dark, or grow more distant.
we give ourselves, in joy, as cannon fodder:
the color, swirling, more blood in the water
To share is human:
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Hey! I love all your poems.. They are simply amazing..