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Poem: Eagles

The eagles circle above my head
As the worker makes his bread
I hear shouts across the town
And then a strange, disturbing sound

I don’t understand the fanatics that exist today
I can’t quite figure out whether to come or stay
Watching them march with little signs in hand
We’re all just grains in a sea of coarse sand

Somewhere lies a treasure of ages past
But I prefer to take what can last
Oh how insignificant we are
Like gas swirling around a star.

So there are things we both can't stand
About each other in smooth sand
A short time, a few crazy days
Stuck in an orange haze

So are we sick? I think we are in different manners
I can't join up with the rebels and their banners
I wish I could escape this prison of flesh and bone
And go back to the land I once called home

Although we're both crazy, although we’re both daft
I think we can sit for a while, chat and laugh
I think I'll be a basement dweller for quite a long time
While you become a cat lady spinster feeling so fine.

 

By Nathaniel Allen

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