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Children
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Society Children are born
to a world bleeding
on its deathbed.
The gravity of
the pendulum’s swing
weighs heavily on us.
We carry crosses
to our tombs,
buried in regret.
Here we stand
on Calvary’s mound,
heads bowed in defeat.
The sun rages on,
the moon depressed
by who life revolves.
The light swallowed
the pitch-y dark
and sung us a lullaby.
