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Jen Ayala Nov 2010
It somewhat looks like a bull-dosed waterfall
It’s a lot, but it’s neither great nor grand
Or hardly worthy of a standing ovation
Yet still, here we are
Glancing favored smiles in its direction
As if looking at a reflection

I advise, care less for the standard
Demand what is extraordinarily preposterous
Stop this nonsense of looking for a chest with an S
Or an answer that is yes
Or to somehow beat this test and be better than the rest
Of the leftover instuments placed here to stand and watch this empire crumble

Oh how lovely to feel humble
What am I to do? Sit here all day on my thumb?
Hearts are growing numb
Minds are decaying sick
And money drives the ambulance to recovery,
Or is headed straight for deterioration?

Sky above, changing weather
Look what’s been done in the name of something better
Hot young seduction dressed in the stench of power and red
Self preservation is what ticks time
The timeline folds around seeing eyes, blinding
All your knowledge means nothing from an undercast view
Mankind thinks, but cannot know
Some truth is sad, but still is so
Create beauty tare it down
Build the trust then leave town
I want more; a selfish wish
When the burn has reached the third degree
My intent is lost with secrecy

— The End —