Birth, death and everything in between

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Birth, and death,
Death, and birth,
Are either two ends of a line,
Or, two points in a never-ending circle.
Now way to know, to be sure.
After all none have come back,
From the great end.

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They killed some more men today

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They killed some more men today,
At a place where men kneel,
To gods, looking down at men.
They killed some more men today,
With a gun, a bomb, and a knife,
There was a man, a woman, and a child.
They killed some more men today,
They said it was for the good cause,
Their cause. Their fight. Their war.
They killed some more men today.
They killed some more men today.

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Where we love

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The past, is like ink on paper.
Present. Permanent. Persistent.
The thoughts I’d had then,
Feel like a different universe now.
A universe in which you would have been,
In love with your work, and I would have been,
Close to you, in your city.
But that’s what it is. A universe,
In which I don’t exist.

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Dragon-slayer

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You ask me not to imagine,
You ask me not to build,
Castles of glass, and sand.
You are afraid of what they do to me.
What they make me do.
You’re right. In parts.

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Sometimes, I wish

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Painter and his muse

Sometimes, I wish I were a painter,
And not a poet,
So that I had a better reason,
To sit, and stare,
To have you, sitting across from me.

You’d be my muse,
As you are now,
But not just in my head,
You’d be out there,
Physically, in front on me,
And I’d faint creation.

Sometimes, I wish I were a painter,
And not a poet.
Sometimes, I wish I were a painter,
And not a poet.