Silent Harangue


I talk with flies
As they go to sleep
Thinking of the rise
Of the cinder-dusted sheep.

That lives her precious
Beneath the giggling clouds
Her mirror gracious
Yet still a sheep between the crowds.

And as I got bit
By the teeth of precaution
My hope unlit.
Deprived of the holistic lotion

That's made up by my mind
To pass through yet another dawn
Where the world is mine, yet still behind
And me adorned with the futility's crown

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