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Sweet, sanguine promises
whispered in hushed lullabies
tones promising tomorrow
slip through the chaos in your eyes.
I'm pondering catastrophes
of a future so unplanned.
How much longer must we go
before others take a stand?
The clouds have broken promises
to quench the harsh, parched ground,
and roses stand, still withering
dying without a sound.
The mad, mad world is spinning on,
and heaven is on fire.
Where in our past did we go wrong?
How long till Man expires?
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