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I held a ball today.  It had been too long that I did such a simple thing. To hold and bounce and catch. So long, I feared it would be a challenge. But muscle memory, child memory, father-son memory, cannot be so easily shaken.
I held a ball today: a luminous thing, found in the undergrowth, and now mine. I shan't let it go so easily this time.
Grateful for Ealing parks today.
Your arms are wings
made of wax

and you soar,
flapping hard,

knowing you need
to get as far

from the sun
as you can—

even though
you so desperately

want to fly into it.
A world full of greed is not my world.
A world full of hypocrisy is not my world.
A world full of exploitation is not my world.
A world full of oppression is not my world.
A world full of decadence is not my world.
A world full of arrogance is not my world.
A world full of apathy is not my world.
A world full of injustice is not my world.
A world full of ignorance is not my world.
A world full of rot is not my world.
A world like that really makes me sick.
So I let nature to destroy a world like that.


August 2025

By Alvian Eleven

— The End —