Poem #15: Villages

There’s almost something tangible here, don’t you think?

An answer at the end of the tunnel,

The words pouring out like wine into the glass,

The purring of the purpose,

I hear you speak, what keeps you so silent for so long?

I know the way we were going,

And then we stuck to order, and patterns,

Stuck to old ways,

Destroyed ourselves in the process,

Watching the villages go up in flames,

The master of the way we knew.

The people who knew us,

We knew nothing apparently.

Madness.

I suppose as the day lingers,

The senses grow sharper and the emotions go deeper,

Running rampant, in you and in I.

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