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Festering in the bleakest of
is this disease.
Tearing at the left ventricle
making it bleed out reason.
It deoxygenates the air of
true law
seeping its vile poison into the
avaricious, stealing what they cannot see.
What they forget to admire with their
ugly, blind eyes.

Open them.

Drop his chains. That perfect smile is cunning like a snake.

Do you see?

Look. You need to, before
his antiquities morph
into shackles.

Turn to the little finger that prods in
your side.
He is the one to give air.
Breathe him life.



About GinAndTulips

Gin and Tulips; The home of the frolicking G&T Lovers. Come in, pull up a comfy seat and make yourself at home. And if you like it. Join us.

4 responses »

  1. I like this a lot. It’s one of those poems you read and you want to yell, “”Yes! right on!” That phrase is from before your time but I hope you know what I mean! Well done. Leo

  2. “antiquities morph
    into shackles.”

    I adore this.


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