| *loolaville _poetry | |||||
| X-mas Season 2001 The window pane is foggy and through the condensation there are yellow twinkling lights on the trees. We lie in our warm beds in our split-level homes painted different shades of the same color, while poverty waits shivering for daylight and another chance. We drop our coins around and make wishes for a piece of the dream that is always in the distance. And when we touch the surface after we let go of it, the sadness overwhelms the soul. Still it can not compare to that of the one who never had the luxury to dream at all. Cars drive on in clouds of brown, the wetlands disappear and only the minority feel despair. Little trains move 'round their tracks clicking and chugging for another child fixated. We turn our backs to face away and the Earth keeps moving unaware that the keepers dropped their keys and the world divided rich and poor. |
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