Miasma

Silent sanguine vapors float at knee’s depth
Rising slowing like a tide of black oil.
The fumes from furious expressions and sounds
That found us surround us and wear us down.
The sickly souls stride alongside us stealing air
And planting their brambles and thorny vines
To ensnare the caring, the feeling, the wise.
We dance in double time to find fresh air
And reach out to share this search with the precious few
That still choose light and love above self-preservation.

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