Silently stepping out
Into this world each morning
In sleep-rumpled clothes and with
An expression intended to
Ward off all takers
A tiresome daily ritual
Unwanted but necessary
There exists a rather
Infinite sorrow that hangs
About outside
Like a toxic cloud in search
Of its own forever home
Enveloping crash values
I reject
We proceed to show ourselves
But only for a minute or two
Before retreating back
Into the tiny bricked up
Private havens we created
With bare hands now
Wrinkled from the sun
And distress
Mourning the loss of
Our naked heart companions
Forests of well-aged trees
Cherished books and
The spontaneity of a pure life
Lived through art
We await for our turn
To join our friends
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