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Therapy

We write to get away from the places we feel hate,
whether undesired real estate or mind state,
we all project what we’re thinking when we’re awake,
hence all the stalemates.
It’s because they slipped in the bad news,
swished it in with my booze,
reiterate how we lose
and we lost so it hurts,
the private sector flirts,
with the politicians on their turf,
employ the killers that’s jerks,
but still the uniformed ignorant pigs is worse,
because they shoot blind
and they shoot first,
because these G’s and these pigs
have the same thirst,
but I don’t place blame on the origins of the curse,
that’s the circular inverse –
enforced reaction to my rebirth,
never ending scales entail reflections
of the beauty we choose not to see –
That’s the ugliness in the roots of which that we truly be.

 

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New Leaves on the Old Trees is a collection of poetry about love, war, death, rebirth, healing and transformation. Please feel free to leave any comments or questions. (under construction - thanks for following/liking in interim phase)

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