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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