Sticks and Stones


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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