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Last Rage A hand extends the heart’s intent, man’s pen in covenant’s cover, that ties the tired environment fed boldfaced lies, in flimflam tales that kin disgust and broken trust. An olive branch shores treaties up, though held out in all that’s wrong and pallid trees of frail seed not grown for dying forests, but planted as the global air chokes the stench of vulture lungs. The scene changes to vague language used to disguise walls of words, fenced high and braced low by men born to die, and a flora designed too young for death by oily hugs and kisses in a world in love with wood expressly raised to slash and grab and auction off as clear-cut. So then, all responsible: a rage seizes our environs a rage has drawn closer, a rage of retribution nears, a rage purposed to ruin, all those ruining the earth. |
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