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if the old ones knew what we choose to forget they would not have left us the reigns to this runaway stage show coached and coaxed slow to confuse the applause for applesauce and mint juleps to hear the galactic gallup of wanted men as progress and not manifest masturbation the revolution of crisis is not this lightning but the thunder coming the drawn curtain and warm bath of inevitable rain if the old ones knew what we choose to ignore they would not have gifted us this present moment wrapped too tight to open they would have left us the knife
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I love this poem. I've been following your writing for a long time, since the Antler's blog days. It's awesome to see you around again.
Breathe deep the gathering gloom
Watch lights fade from every room
Bedsitter people look back and lament
Another day's useless energy spent
Impassioned lovers wrestle as one
Lonely man cries for love and has none
New mother picks up and suckles her son
Senior citizens wish they were young
Cold-hearted orb that rules the night
Removes the colours from our sight
Red is grey and yellow white
But we decide which is right
And which is an illusion