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I try to see the beauty in a rose
But it smells just like a **** to me.

My pen is filled with lovely words
That I can’t put on paper.

My heart’s aware that it’s been robbed
Of everything that’s velvet

But it beats on in vain attempt
To recognize a bluebird.
ljm
I was quite blue a while back. I'm OK now.
 May 2020 Graff1980
IrieSide
Guilt calcifies
your
Pineal Gland
Where do we go for sanctuary?
Tossed by turbulent waves in storms of time,
we scramble for a leeward shore.

Where can we find security when
violent winds rise to splinter our shelters -
cursing dreams to oblivion?

How can we conjure hope
when famine, disease and bitter tyranny
stalk us in the shadows?

The answers lie within us
where means and tools for restoration live
and empathy is our guide.

Gifted with imagination’s plow,
we envision re-cultivation of the thirsty soil -
so prescribed by our creator.

We think, and so we care.
we care, therefore we act and sacrifice.
The future is our calling.

Reason, trust and community
must ever be our strong and worthy foundations
and capstones of our sanctuary.
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