Land of the lost

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In order to dissolve back down to nothing,

we compress, and then vent…outpours everything.

finally we are enveloped by the long-lasting, all-consuming,

giant hug of daggers,

stinging every pore, till this glass building shatters,

all that truly matters,

now solipsistic and unresponsive,

troubles that were misinterpreted,

So as to get on with our business,

and feel nothing but bliss,

a hopeful illusion, we cover our eyes and miss,

the glaringly obvious effects of all this

busy days, plans up ahead, vacant eyes, occupied and maybe a little blind.

Half way there and our vehicles break-down in need of an instant repair,

spare me the trouble, i may be surrounded by rubble but believe me there is no space in this bubble,

that I choose to live in, wilfully ignorant,

bypassing, and indifferent

time is of essence,

and these practicalities teach us our biggest lessons.

It seems,

as we all grieve what could have, would have, should have been,

in this moment now, instead of this cloud,

I can admit that my judgement is impaired a little,

by all that has happened, all that has been belittled,

the rage now consumes and serves as the elixir and fuel,

that went to good use,

in this messy painting that is made of all shades and hues,

tainted by the confused

but also the pinks, purples and blues,

in the land of the lost we refuse,

to melt down and diffuse,

what we choose to do, what we know to be right and true, what is no longer a brand new,

idea implanted by all of this fear.

because lets be honest in the end,

the little strokes of paint blend,

like the voices of friends,

into an abyss,

a vortex where so much has been missed,







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