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Bottles on the fort walls

The sun moils away fruitlessly
leaving only shadows
waiting in hospital rooms,
dreaming of impossible sanctity  
as we prepare to bury our dead
 
Elsewhere
children gambol with innocence
hidden
so as to smother comparison;
our raison d'etre.
Hidden so we cannot find
any reason to fight.
 
We do not push forward,
but lean reluctantly into the future
all the while, the sun
behind us
watching our shadows
merge with the rest
 
We become the trees
the broken refrigerators
the street lamps
the bottles on the fort walls
we become anything,
but ourselves
Written by CruelHandedWriter (Jamie Rhodes)
Published | Edited 21st Aug 2011
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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