Wakeful, but martyred by silence. Decisions
made to leave behind this
atrophy, restrained the urge
to open up the mouth, to let the throughts out.
Cheated out of the goal that set
precedent, before all of the bowed heads.
To emulate the concern of the masses
is to conversate; to set aside our masks and
try.
Sweat rolls down
the palms: like rain
on the window.
Papers shuffled, feet scuffled,
used to the useless minds: dishovelled.
Pray for pensiveness, pray for the truth again.
Pray for weapons if you pray to be home again.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
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