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My Apocalypse
June 10, 2009
In the end rain will wash away
the fragile boundaries, human laws decide
sending dancing drops of memory
to every storm filled station.
And in the rain we’re all the same
Faceless, formless, but alive.
Catching questions from the lightning
Blind since our creation.
Boxed inside this massive circus,
Bound by one thought “to survive.”
Calling back to the frenzied torrent
“Rain will wash away…”
© Trella R., Mountain Lakes, NJ
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