Sticks and Stones


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Almost, soon, there will be no stones to throw.

Everyone left to their own.

Of what is not owned.

Suffice to say,

most will be alone.

Scrapping down a cityscape.

No food for the land.

No place for an escape.

Beating back the promises with rotted sticks.

I wonder where the disillusioned…

Will find a fence.

A cushioned place in which to sit.imageedit_25_6382093541

‘It’s absurd to believe that we might
Deserve anything
As if its balanced in the end!’

Jack Johnson

 

 

 

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