What We Have Become

Clandestine devotion trailing our path
but we chose mundane applause… the praise of men.
Of scoring life shots,
we conceded to a throw in.
And when life is fair,
we gladly embraced despair.
Even amidst plenty,
we complain for twenty.
And the hinges of love,
we pulled with iron gloves.
We are an opposing army,
faulting every treaty of peace.
A landmine in the winter,
blasting everything built in the summer.
We are now a breed of thorns,
sprouting from wheat seedlings.
We’ve become all that we hated,
an ironic duplicate of normalcy.
What we have become
is a charade of development.

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