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Mackay Hare Poem
In slender tendrils,
Light drifts in, however small
An illusion of hope.
Grooves of lead spiral
Cohesively they gather
Into something more
What gaping hole demands me,
My time at the hands of
A nefarious villain, ignorant,
To his identity
Believing, with such might of
His benevolence, yet
Those diminished of his vindictive
Prowess, lost, forgotten,
Such as the natural beauty
Struck by greed, shaken to
Barren lands, industrious,
He claims, his coercive tongue
Persuades even me, yet
I obey
Silently
I walk
...
Whistling, the winds enchant me
Death, permeates.
I had arrived, my musings
Unable to comfort me
As I stand at the forefront of
The pit, Falling off infinitely
For those who had succumbed to
Greed
My signature brings
Another man, to his death
He is none the wiser
Copyright © Mackay Hare | Year Posted 2010
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Details |
Mackay Hare Poem
All of the sheep, walk, skip, and frolic merrily forward. Alongside fellow companions
Your neighbor, ones kin, and ones colleges. Passively flowing downstream
Base 10. A number. Of no tactile measure. Yet growing, multiplying. Binary fission.
Are we all not but identical? We desperately vie for security amongst the crowd.
Belong. Do we? In society, an outcast is a failure. The black sheep, never belongs.
To and from one to another, we feed from seemingly ourselves. A reverberation of personality.
Us, we, him, they. Culture ricochets from sheep like paddles. Off to another follower.
Copyright © Mackay Hare | Year Posted 2010
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