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Tuesday, November 1, 2011

Hollow Lives

Is there nothing like gazing?
It wearies me to see souls rot away
When all that matters is the time at hand
To stare at the bright stars while on a dark land
To stumble across a stream
To hear the crackle of a dry leaf
And to be afraid of the unknown
Us city-folk may never understand these
For there is no time at hand
To open a book
And flip through its yellow pages
We are shackled by our surroundings
And by our mechanisms

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