Nava's Journal of Poetry
#178 (In Topic #46)
Dark dreams barely remembered cling to mangled bodies in perfect condition.
How long? The world only whimpers now: beaten, bruised, and abused by both its creators and inhabitants.
The creators know not the suffering, know not their responsibility. And yet, it has power still. Undying, this killer dances through time like a glutton consuming the dinner guests.
I know too much of my creator–of the havoc it caused. Gilded cages break. Time-trapped prisons do not. Break time and let space contain the undying.
Or let all be for naught and the world shrivel to nothing.
We must try.
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