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| >> Static Item >> Poetry >> Death >> ID #1424241 |
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From the cradle to the stormy grave
We are suckling Life, starving for living. Wielding fell swords and fighting for haven From the twilight of Life, pock-marked with sorrow. And pills, pills, pills, Tossed into the air and cascading down Into our mouths, probing every open oriface To stretch time with chemical precision. We, heedless to the prayers of those passing before, The ideas unchallenged, the dreams left un-named, Would prolong death, the fist-handed, formless Judge, And beg a boon of the the all-capitalized GOD.
© Copyright 2008 Merit Elizabeth (UN: shatterglass at Writing.Com).
All rights reserved.
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