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Flights of Fantasy

September 11, 2020

Inane piffling murmurs abound

Fools running us into the ground

Weak, thoughtless, with no conviction

To my mind a perpetual indiction

Speak out the truth, and they cower

Unwilling to grow and to flower

They want a soma to lull them to sleep

Not a dangerous idea too wide and deep

A gaping chasm separates them from me

Tough to be this alone, but at least I am free

Some consolation on the long dark nights

For my hopeful dreams and fantasaic flights.

From → Poetry

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