I reject your reality and substitute my own (alienatiomentus) wrote in unusual_souls,
I reject your reality and substitute my own

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Fresh Poetry


Gift of the Meek

Cascading innocent gifts
burnt on open fields of reality
intone upon this virgin soil
the loss of knowledge
of burgeoning hope
hope now distraught of future
out temporal web is frayed
its frustrated edges
distend into the abyss
to descend and sink
to nothing and emptiness

but hope glimmers yet in a beam
a needle-thin line of humanity
destiny spins its golden thread
to bring upon these dead fields
of reality, or gloom
the light
the passion that innocence sacrifices
and now inundates to that reality
thank predecessors for this light
for without past hope
no laden future lingers
and no fruitful potential awaits the meek
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