Pent-Up Repeating

In our world ..  .. ..

If you keep in touch with it, 

you can feel others bleed.

You can see what they see.

It’s not make believe

 

There is a special divinity between beings.

Strangers reach out to help, while infants cry and dogs are eaten

Weapons make colors. Wounds make sounds.

The actions of others shine in our eyes.

 

It’s all a very long game we each play

We keep dealing ourselves bad hands.

But we won’t give in to the mutations, or the solitary death.

We need to find our way.

 

The child sees everything from a glass house.

The future is so brightly there.

Tries to draw the shade but it’s impossible.

He then leaves to seek the divine army.

Punishing himself as an act of heroes. 

 

This poem is about: 
Our world

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