Monday, June 3, 2013
there would be images in time
supposing their was time left to breathe
supposing their was air
& the sky was not blackened
& our wishes had not moved underground
where they were safer from an atom's frost
& there would be life here
& echoes of the living
& many things left
& these they feed
on the pleasure of fear
in their fantasies
they had the power
to destroy it all
the pressure of control
implodes & yearns to let go
& this is where fear is a comfort
the same place
where empathy dies
if you see it in another's eyes
you needn't feel it yourself
you can tell an ideologue by the uneven distibution of their rage
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