Struggling on

The screen is blank and so is my

numbed mind, as I sit looking

unenthusiastic-ally at the screen,

which reads Title,

but now words are appearing

out of the cold of my mind

and the imagination is warming

to the task of writing a poem

that grows out of the dark cold of the night,

night covers our tread,

so the damages of uncertainty,

the low smog that chokes,

and covers the beauty

of the surrounding mountains,

the cracks in society,

waiting cruelly to explode

into violent genocides,

papered over by the will

for yet more greed,

and the dream has made

me sweat in the cold of night,

and I know it is time to stop the dream,

and turn to action.

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