Day 18: Rebels

sedentary like the stone gargoyles
that crumble, worn by time,
their eyes seeing past horizons
far beyond you or I

visionary like the gypsy on the road
hard-won wisdom and ghosts at your side
afraid to look up
fearing less what is inside us

pillager like the greedy of old times
holding fire out to a makeshift pyre
the end justifies the screaming innocents
watch our own souls burn

Another poem to revisit, I don’t think I quite caught what I wanted but it’s a chip at the block.



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