Wandering Through Modern Life

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         As blackened heads comes gritting modern life

I've come to try, to bring to terms – this hollow life

         The rusting tins that belch – Oh! Sweet Nothing!

Where would one be kind to find that simple something?


         Glorious armies come wreathed in medals of gold

It appalls them, truly what monsters they mold

         An attraction set to entice desire

With lessen burdens to reach the spire.


         Interspersed – the wandering thoughts

A grinding, empty that brings in fraught,

         Comes creeping, creaking, ever so,

With tiny moves to its dimming glow.


         The cymbals – they ring for me in me

A signal so cosmic – it beckons me,

          Awake! – one must be to feel

The feeling, that breaks and forms the seal.


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