Dust
Earth is being reduced to dust
Rich colours, a palette bleeding
Dust to dust we find ash melds
A kaleidoscope in disaster
Colour run to raise emotions
Natures stencils worth in gold
Silver rimmed bowls of memories
Blow away in the cold air wind
In haste we try to back paint
Fill in the gaps we made in paste
Alas, we cannot repair our home
Nor protest in bright red signs
They will burn it down in ignorance
In belief that they are right
While we hide under our bed sheets
Making drawings in our heads
Planning futures in black and white.
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This was written as a prompt using the picture above to write on.
Thanks for reading 🕊️
About the Creator
VJHD
The subsistence of our lives will live on in our words, forever encapsulating our feelings.
Words are the centre point of our existence. If we never write anything down, did we ever really exist at all?
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