Monday, November 30, 2009


A riven heart, a crippled wing,

The touch of a caring soul

And redemption is attained.

We dare venture not past the precincts of sanity.

But mustn’t this be assumed natural?

Why, then, are our lives stained

With crimes against humanity?

It truly is a pity;

More than once have we viewed glimpses,

Through portals of crude reality,

Of apathy beyond perception.

So often the heart winces

At the perverted proceedings of the rabid

And mourns the system’s imperfection.

Yet we must all dream of an unblemished world,

Of relishing a unanimous reception,

Of the credence of contrariety,

And, someday, perhaps of redemption.

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