Sunday, April 27, 2014

Aces of pain are not smurfs of war

Worlds of time do not contradict the rote pleasure of unlikely encounters.

Meaning is not misconstrued fear.

Fine hands shake life into hands of war.

Mitzvahs are not clamoring for cover when the old faces cry out in pain.

Messy shoes by times complacency are always still tidy coverings for the feet of estrangement.

Hate has no derivative.

Never again.

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