August 25, 2008
The depressing display of withering life,
The blossoms all were once so rife.
Illness and vigor in a violent strife.
But it's all so pointless.

The mountains echo the deathly roar
Of the storm that hovers o'er,
And the peace wants to settle the score.
But its all so pointless.

It's many teeth the cat will bare
As it creeps towards the hare.
It creeps with precision, it creeps with care.
But it's all so pointless.

The heavy burden of the rain
Soaks the last tree on the plain.
But everything is inane.
There is nary a point.

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writer24/7/365 said...
Sept. 10, 2009 at 4:32 pm
that's deep.
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