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Mute to the Chatter

He knew he was spoilt

But there came a shadow of envy behind every gust of wind

Green through their metaphors of meaningless pastures

Encapsulating their distaste to his silence

Brick walls of silence

Travelled the road long into his forgotten past

A cost that stood the defectors ignorance

So simple in their eyes

Would god create a rock he could not lift?

Blinded by a masochists dying wish

His son rode it hard that night they shared a crate

Could they have twisted the knife in his back any further

Strictness means nothing to the dying and dead

Her heart to long poison from contempt and hatred

Strictness means nothing to the dead

Cut reels of video tape a worthless thread

To him it was the ultimate handshake of giving in

Little did the detractors know countless times he already had

Burning the remnants ‘of sin

Encapsulating himself in clouds of smoke and gin

Sanctuary of another is how this begins.




Poetry writer and lover.

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