Cyclone Destruction from Pixabay

Blind world turning on a dangerous precipice.

Wandering through the green dessert.
The day burns up the night.
Body is worn, eyes blurred, desire is tired.
No time left to count the sins.
No time left to save the wind.
Gentle dreams lost and expired.
Hearts that fled.
Blood that lied.
Promises broken.
Far and low.
Fields of ruin.
Hellish ride.
The quiet murderer knocks with a helpful smile.

Reach on through to touch the new divide.
Reach on through.
Reach on through.

Found a nation in your hands.
Peoples in your grip.
Words which kill.
Steep and contrived.
Wishful dreams fill the night.
No answer here.
No peace to be had.
Tear down the walls.

Reach on through to touch the new divide.
Reach on through.
Reach on through.

The path is slim.
Lines are drawn.
Break the gray, see through the wrong.

Reach on through.
Reach on through.
Touch the new divide. Yeah.
Reach on through to touch the new divide.

Bringing real feelings along with messages of inspiration and imagination to life. Awakening is the symptom of my infectious condition. Poetry is my condition.

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