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The splendid southern sun lights the land      breeding the greenest grass      exploding the fairest flowers      reflecting the widest seas      feeding the richest soil      and the kindest people The vast open ocean soaks the skin The soft white sand scalds the feet The breezy air is humid      saturated with ecstasy      but damp with opportunity But as I venture north      films of simple nostalgia conceal these memories      escapes to the southern sun now intermittent. Bliss is overcome with solitude. Reality refracts the northern lamps      replacing the herald of each new day with a sobering awakening. Every day passes slowly      as the factory of life once again begins      as the iron cogs of monotony turn      in their recurrent spin. The last bursts of escape are torn      ripped between the brutish artisans of monotony           like scraps thrown to the dogs           a loaf dropped amongst slaves. This is the limit of our blessed lives      Endless toil and fleeting happiness. If not, show me more      a rescue from these binding shackles. But if so, may I dream      of the southern sun?
0
Jun 1, 2013
Jun 1, 2013 at 12:15 AM UTC
I Want to Go Home
The splendid southern sun lights the land      breeding the greenest grass      exploding the fairest flowers      reflecting the widest seas      feeding the richest soil      and the kindest people The vast open ocean soaks the skin The soft white sand scalds the feet The breezy air is humid      saturated with ecstasy      but damp with opportunity But as I venture north      films of simple nostalgia conceal these memories      escapes to the southern sun now intermittent. Bliss is overcome with solitude. Reality refracts the northern lamps      replacing the herald of each new day with a sobering awakening. Every day passes slowly      as the factory of life once again begins      as the iron cogs of monotony turn      in their recurrent spin. The last bursts of escape are torn      ripped between the brutish artisans of monotony           like scraps thrown to the dogs           a loaf dropped amongst slaves. This is the limit of our blessed lives      Endless toil and fleeting happiness. If not, show me more      a rescue from these binding shackles. But if so, may I dream      of the southern sun?
duncan-leugs
Written by
American
Jun 1, 2013
Jun 1, 2013 at 12:15 AM UTC
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