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There will be

Shoulders hunched and raging, they cry
because they are protesting caging, why
the air is ever-crazing, thy
permanent rephrasing.

words are words and stuck like death
they bloom the abominable crest
they spit and soak and croon in jest
but deep within their mind's eye's chest

they'll find the story's bought and sold
left to wax and wane for gold
told and told and told and told
that life is not there's to unfold.

but i say, grow tangled, let eyes be kings
fly higher on your little wings
string the bow until it sings
forcing open eyelids, sight to bring

the day is clean, the air forgets
it's lost and rotten innocence
the wind spills out, without pretense
the tangled, rotten, old regrets….

give way and crumble, free from desire
in the end there will be air, not fire



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