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Rated: E · Poetry · Philosophy · #1632082
About humankind's inability to think ahead in consensus.
Enter solace soon
For a desolate hinterland unfolds before my eyes
Arise, choked ochre horizon,
to hold me in your sweet arms
For sour fruits have borne dull wine,
I spit away in sore anguish.
My burning star in the sky
must you always be unattainable?

Only I know what this drive has nearly compelled
towards Pandora's sick goal,
my sweet home...
Hel.
Pan.
You writhe amongst us, cause deep confulsion for fun.
Be banished henceforth,
with your spastic poltergeists.
Take your perversion elsewhere,
wreak damnation in the sour grapes.
Trough for me all the rancid, long-gone wine,
until I can drink no more...

For I am wan.
I strive for the sun until my wings are burnt.
I jump through fire every day.
I reach for the fiercest stars, whatever the cost.
Whoever is lost.
Watch me reap and rape the fields,
take without yield until my belly is full.
Burn the midnight oil.
Poison ashen soil.
Take everything you can.
For I am man.
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