Stifled life, the air

A creeping fear
A terror felt
Never wanes

The worms, vermin of civility
Wheeled monoliths, traversing to nowhere
A mechanised climb of chill and fractive faecal stink

To slice the air, to render through
This cold mire, this central state
Of the disease and morose cause célèbre

The sour honey utopia of two score
The ideal you have lead to believe
Washed away by capitulation and arrogance

This meditative mind, this willing heart
Washing, draining, noises, voice

Ian V. Seymour ©2012

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