Words and Worlds of Violence

Collective consciousness

is much easier when defined.

Much thought.

Contemplation is for  blind.

 

We move ever closer to claim what seems to shine.

Fine sands slip back to the top.

Provoking a disease.

Pop.         

   
                         

Propped up against a page.

Where ink is filled with rage.

 Letters don't get past their cages.

Phases of humanity fly by in a second.

Yet, still we are in the first stage.

Infants, not in time or creation.
 

We are creation. We are creators. We are deviation. We are damnation. Tempted with not more than one savior. Parchment on which we display our behavior.

This poem is about: 
Our world

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