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Skies Aren’t Free

All too soon, we’ll turn around

From an age of persistence to communicate

No stranger’s friend is your brother

Watching the children cartwheeling down the hill

Beverages of star-suns glamorizing Atlantis

We won’t turn around, we must be found

Simmering the hot pie in the kitchen

Falling in love, letting go of balloons

Gliding the cattails in the park

A fountain of complaints with espressos and cream

We’ll turn around after buying a deal of a car

Vent and astound while feeding the birds

Lords fulfillment and fist fights at the bar

Leaning for a token of luck and kissing exhilaration

We’ll turn when the soap box was roped for

Racism, war, poverty, pain

We will, when we listen before the sky abandons

Unbridled stoking, now look

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2 Comments

  1. Eli Eli

    Some of your lines have really put images inside my mind’s eye. Odd, but letting go of balloons is the one that has stuck with me.

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