LONG DREAM
This desolation is ours
Allowing no other song.
Our history of misery, threadbare and golden
Would not keep a family of mice
Alive on a winter’s evening.
Such honour we give poison
And the acid tongues that spit it out.
One by one we snip our roots
To free us from this sullen holy soil.
Cool mountain air and the rain
washes distance away.
It says:
You are not important enough to be hated.
Even a long dream will still be woken from.
—
simonhlilly 
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