What’s Left Behind

Half-full philosophy I
beg you paint a tounge
before I go yet more I
see a forlorn kingdom.

Pour gas on the fire so
it matches in your soul.
Burn it all down to say
you’ve got it in control.

Charred remains of it,
what has let us be free,
gives no one a license
for cruel led obscenity.

This raging land bleeds
from the past puncture
you do the ways we’re
suppose to treat others.

See ground as far as it
can be seen the grave’s
a place we all will find;
no longer to misbehave.

Greed it has contorted
all the eye it could see.
Our stench under dirt,
far away freely breathe.

I won’t take it with me
when I’m placed to rest.
Has anyone told you of
what when dead is left?

A memory it can live in
a vaccum corrupt cruel.
When we speak of what
is deceitful spite’s fuel.

(Pictures by Me)

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