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Rated: E · Poetry · Nonsense · #2206356
Little things can be big too.....most of this will not make any sense
Ever seen blood in the moonlight? It appears quite black

The night reflects fear in a child’s eyes

A bubbling distortion

Fear is the price of our instrument

The brain does wonderful things

We help ourselves to bear it

Grasping eternity in our hands

The little wren caged for its lifetime

Whilst an Ant is reborn in the afterbirth

Fear is not what I owe you

It’s the demon, all of my own

Like a giant that stands on the thorns

From a rose that bleeds each petal

Poison seeps

Fools speak

Until it’s healed itself

On the outside at least

It’s shape, is not too ugly

Behold the collection of scars

As it sways through the motions

Forever it never forgets

Which scars, who gave the best of them

The giant stands upon its thorns

The rose beguiled and grateful

The power of the scars reveals

The past was real and shapes it

Half measures of the curse of it

Neither savage nor wise

And life goes on but still, we live

In primitive times.
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