Valuables
Working in jobs we loath,
buying valuables we do not need.
We have no substance to survive on this,
our souls we can not feed.
A million miles away,
across oceans and cracks.
Exist people that own everything,
everything we lack.
The Mark of Cain,
we have burnt upon ourselves.
Ever plummeting southwards,
our conscious delves.
He collects them in bottles,
our evil ways.
Waiting to release them,
at the end of days.
Copyright © Eve Wildman | Year Posted 2008
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