Broken Lullaby

February 23, 2017 § 3 Comments

It’s deceptively easy,
Walking to the back of the line,
Where the sun isn’t bright,
And the stares aren’t cold,
Nothingness is a mistaken healer,
Plying his wares to the broken,
Soothing with icy fingers,
And laughing at the spurts of life,
In the dungeons of our own making,
We rot away for eternity,
Nothing, no-one to hear our stories,
No-one to judge our woes,
And silently we watch, gazes on the sly,
As the world moves, unaware, unconcerned,
We heal, we dream, and we smile,
Until it is our turn to rise, to reclaim,
Not a race, not a line, but life as a whole,
Mile upon the next bloody mile.

Fin.

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§ 3 Responses to Broken Lullaby

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