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Of Planet and Plague
As if these lands were separate,
As if our minds weren't one,
As if land and sea were dichotomy, of darkness and the sun.
Pangea's cleavage tells the tale,
To fail here as but one.
All secedes from sense of we, on a planet's pedigree.
Family's but a split from those,
Whose own claim to be the same.
Round about in group about,
Aboard a rule-less game.
Alas we'll spin around the rosie,
Pockets full of posies,
Ashes, ashes,
We'll all burn down.
Aflame alone,
When all around's our own.
Copyright ©
Beej Simrov
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