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Dreaming of sugar spun so high I could barely touch the sky when a bird came and sat on my shoulder she said she was messenger of the gods of this realm and we (the humans) of course had forgotten to sow our souls with seeds of true harvest most notably we strew our seeds onto the hard ground of leeched existence where little can be gathered other than motes awaiting the rain of content to soften our fields, we discover perhaps the drive to exhume something thought lost but not buried, at least in the usual of sentiments, not in the ground but in the concrete village we call our selves...we hope, we pray, we silently scream for anyone to listen the gods of this realm have turned away to their parlor games as we no longer remember to deify their existence, so who will deify ours?

Copyright © | Year Posted 2019

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