Randomness

The dark shinyness
of brand new poetry,
like the smell of a showroom car.
Poems don’t have to be factual,
they don’t even have to be actual
poems.
Reality is, writing breeds writing and
violence breeds violence.
The children that survive
may well be the soldier’s of tomorrow.
Terrorising their own children.
Terrorising their own fathers.

My words will still be here and so will the irony.

Both lost.

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