The past is alive
Forever holding secrets untapped
It swells in our deepest sorrows
Discomfort to mark our nostalgia
The present is hibernating
Inconsistencies and immoralities unstopped
Like a dead rat that smells in the shadows
Of a church. And a stinking future
If and when we would decide to read poetry or a piece of discerning article a day, our world is, then headed for a change. No magic potion whatsoever: if there were, politicians would have used it a long time ago. Our mind is all that we have; the only exception to tricks of all corners and angles. Enjoy the luxury and peace of poetry...
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