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The lunatic is on grass

April 6, 2011

Vertical Abyss

Silent oceans draw back the water
and those little men left on the shore
by the estranged mind.
Lonely birds fly towards a distant land
And take the ashes of my past.
To resurrect the division of shadows.
An old man set on a road less travelled
With redemption and grief hung on his shoulder
And a hope to break the limbo he has attained
Destined to fade away
For the bigger cause
The little things I've forgot
In the pretence of attaining oneness
Or maybe for a touch of faith.
With an acceptance of the obsequious
My face is redrawn by them masters.
Often.
I the obedient slave.
I the faceless man.

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