Black Lake of Broken Dreams

Green, white.

Wood wafts westward into my nasal wonder.

Beans crack and crumble away to dust

As the black lake of broken dreams

Boils into blight.

Creators crawl the clavier, clawing

Through the crevices of hanging air and

Caffeinated condensation.

There’s a faint glimmer in the dimness;

Scratching, the paper curls to unveil

The matter behind the mind.

This poem is about: 
My community
My country


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