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The old never dies

The trees swayed back and forth under the storm that had been brewing for years. Light trickles of liquidized life teased the grass, and desire filled them lighting crackled and the sound of thunder broke the backs of the slaves in the fields. crying they fled for safety from the poring storm that engulfed the labor of every man, woman, and child there had been and with that life.

A bang signaled the beginning of a new world, forged on the remembered remnants of the old. The same basic structures standing tall and proud the only difference in the world was there were no slaves bending under cracking dictators, all of them equal, however a storm was brewing again.


The sounds of a hundred feet running up the stairs echoed in the sky and the piercing cries of infants screaming looked like sharp light. The earth sits waiting for its fate, it is always the same , the only thing that changes with the seasons are its expressions.


what if the expressions of earth are ready to hail fire and ice, split open and gorge its self on the splendor of people present , what if its ready to move foreword but is being held back by the gravity of the sun.


Compelling to look at it is sucked into its self and washed , the passed remnants completely gone and stark white it sits now orbiting around the earth.


i am the moon and you are the sun... when days were easy i revolved around you , now im stark white and scared .

Save me, you provided me with life.



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