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Lingering leaves of gold frolic in the autumn wind
"Lingering leaves of gold
frolic in the autumn wind,"
Swept up by bygone breezes,
already collapsing
before they begin,
As disillusionment clouds an overtired soul—
Misplaced and irretrievable
To a society that ravenously
disembowels empathy,
Twists and mangles trust
until it becomes unrecognizably disfigured,
Leaving the carcass to be plucked by bone-thin vultures,
Fed by culture’s apathetic, parasitic narcissism,
Under the boiling, pre-winter sun.
Copyright ©
Sara Jama
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