Page 19 - Labyrinth--Suburban Stardust
P. 19
Poet: Amal Choudhry
When a man has hundreds
His thoughts linger on
The world and all the BLOOD; the man becomes isolated. In His mind, the moon
floats in the heavens
But now our thoughts are
Clay, molded with
The changes of the days.
Now we are coins melted down. We are soldiers, and afterwards We are WEAPONS OF INSTINCT Reinforced with dullness; our Clear conscience HAS AWOKEN IN AN ABYSS of solitude
So that in spite of it all
We live a close hard Existence of a dream.
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