Day 1066, sick world.

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It’s burning outside, in my world.

It’s the hate you see, in my world.

The absence of mirrors, reflection.

The believe in a father, party, or lord.

A promise that steels, seduces your conscience.

Reduces the other, your neighbor, to foe.

“They have to be wrong why else do they question”.

Your right is not standing well on its own.

It’s saddens to know that people still hate.

And have not learned from the mistakes that are made.

It’s burning outside, in the world that I see.

It’s the hate you see, in the world that I see.

Nochrisis

Day 1065, silicon stone.

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We opened our eyes one morning and looked down on nature.

A first tool we gathered, the stone to break, a hand we guided.

We looked up, that evening, at millions of stars to wonder.

We became our own master, ruler of the world.

We now can fly, go faster and destroy it all.

Have the knowledge, ever imagined, in our hands,

to give that back, one morning, to a silicon stone.

The stone that breaks

And frees us all.

Nochrisis

Day 1064, drain.

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A compressed mood.

A smile, it goes well, meanwhile

drained, by life, it almost spills, over the edge

it tries to spoil, like a faint memory, a faraway drip

It’s there but not, I will feel fine

I am fine, the burden drains.

Day 1063, a wall.

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Change, a white wall, with a door.

A sign, something written, a mark

deteriorated, for ages, illegible.

A warning, description, a guide?

Will you do, a next step, be afraid?

Not knowing, immobilized,

or unabashed, and open, forget.

Are you afraid of the unknown

or afraid of standing still?

Nochrisis

Day 1062, wonderland.

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We clear the atmosphere

and set course to other worlds

our long sleep last ages

but for us, it’s just one dream

from our bridge, we see the new world

when we wake up from our sleep

It’s blue from up here

when closer, land does appear

we set down and wander out

just the two of us

all alone in this new land with an apple tree

Nochrisis

Day 1059, grey-less.

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The red stands for blood

that runs through our construct

the black, and white our views.

The red is what we spill

our construct wants to rule

we are, black and white.

Nochris

Day 1058, storm.

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A storm is going on.

I stare upwards, eyes closed, see dim grey movements.

The lights inside play with my darkness, from outside

the wind, roof and trees play their song

getting exited, calm down, scream, all without reason.

The fireplace cracks, suddenly, irregularly, interrupts this symphony,

the orange glow welcome, reminds me, the darkness subsides.

Nochrisis

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