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Atlas Shattered
I have written my poem already.
I walk through the halls.
Since they broke up months ago,
I have rebuilt new walls.
I like telling stories,
I make them up at night.
They, too, can’t
Distinguish what is wrong from right.
I wake up in the morning,
I breathe in Autumn air,
Trying to forget the once,
About which I used to care.
Once upon a time,
That is how stories go.
Never-ending love stories,
Often end with whoa.
Marriage will tie you down,
I am independent,
Society paints me as a clown,
Art is transcendent,
But what happens when Atlas,
Crumbles down and turns to dust?
Does the earth shatter,
Along with my unquestioned trust?
I have written my poem already.
I walk through the halls.
Since they broke up months ago,
I have rebuilt new walls.
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