The sun is like a blood stained egg yolk
The world gone mad
deranged with grief
Sheltered by the solid oak
I cry my heart into my throat
I cannot breath
A wind came with thunder
in the trees
The dust is choking me
I begin to bleed
My hands stung by nettles
My feet caught in thistles
Nature gone mad before my eyes
Is this the way we intend to die?
KMCOLBY@20111
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