Beaches and scratched sunnies


Wasteland souls

If blemishes form against our grain

We toss them aside

Death in vain

If you become to broken to matter 

We’ll leave them to be

Martyrs in tatters

And wasteland souls scatter

So far away they forget there are others

Ones with worn holes from their mothers

Ones with pieces missing from their fathers

Ones who’ve been completely shattered by strangers

And those who make strangers out of souls

Sending them to a wasteland,

There are those who harden with time,

Eventually forgiven for their crime,

For something they had no control,

Yet forgiveness costs,

And what is lost,

Is barely payment.

Other souls

Become tired,

Simply become the sand of a wasteland,

And become one with others long forgotten,

As a massive tombstone

Of worn names

You cannot see one from the next

Yet there’s a little of everyone

Lost in a wasteland.

This poem is about: 
Our world


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