It’s strange how those
Passing shadows so
Fast become a reality
Blocking out those rays
Of inspiration and morality
To become one with the
Darkness and shine no
More for such are the times
Passing that no one is
Keeping score of the dead
And dying for there is a
Deafness to the crying
Of children and do we all
Not morn a mother that
Could be more than life’s
Restrictions and the closing
Of that door of mere existence
And keeping clean the floors
Of prosperity

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