The past is but a smoke of horror
Parasitic ideas of advancement
Now plague an erstwhile purity
of conscience
What is youth without error
What is youth if not dissent
Your neck now aches
From months and months
Of bending over backwards
Trying to reach for dreams that nolonger matter
Dreams long lost in exigent
craze of daily survivals
And visions
Missions no longer coherent
Missions?
Visions now lost in misty mists
of ethnic allegiance
But on you search
Catching none but the tails of winds
Winds nolonger inclined to you
Winds whose whistles
No longer find your tunes fathomable
Winds whose luxurious hisses
You'll now find preponderant!
© October 2010
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