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Sep 3
You are asked
And your words cast out meaning,
Yet their selfishness is returned.
And you cower, crying for silence
For kindness not to be spurned.

Is is all too much for what we have created?
Towers of dogs fighting.
Fallen compasses,
On an empty path
Is it all too much for what we have inflated?
Hands over eyes.
Blind dogs in the tall grass.

And your words cast out their meaning,
They lay out the welcome mat,
Yet on days to come, they fester
And turn you on your back.

Is it too much for all?
Is it too much?
Is it?
Is?
I.
telling the truth and it festering into something else by the hearer
Written by
Stephen Frederick Stone  45/M/UK
(45/M/UK)   
181
   TheIdleOwl
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