The Street

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Where you are not
is where beauty is found
The concrete is Hot
Soaking the sun-
Unnaturally bound.

Snow-capped peaks stand-
Without a boot’s print to scar the Wind swept frost,
Rounded and flowing dunes lay-
Gusts pouring each grain into its brothers like liquid,
Lapping wake of nothing more golden then life’s blood
dancing to a timeless tune,
The Lunar body acting as its eternal metronome
Beating through tremendous forces, swaying to life itself,
And it has conducted this rhythm through an equally beautiful maelstrom,
One that rebuilds as it destroys,
That breathes life into decay,
and, respectively, death to that which has lived.

Now gaze upon the towering fumes,
And the fields of abused cotton in bloom.
Raised by the dozen to be consumed
So that we can live; unnaturally groomed.
See into the cauldron of humanity,
Purple and spewing, right under our feet
This has become life’s destiny-
To dejectedly succumb to the industrial Heat





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