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In Alexandria

The truth we preach is often filled with the lies that we breach; The truth that we uphold is often the injustice that takes hold. We hold back, our anticipation in control but at the end of the day, the sun may not shine and often falls back into the fold. This phenomena that we wonder about: life, living and liberty we always shout—We learn that time isn’t perfect, and that space likes to trick us and watch us dissect!—Our thoughts and companions, our lovers and minions, until the pieces that remain are looked at with pity and disdain. It’s a tragedy, but not an anomaly, as it’s rather common, you see. The brick and mortar hearts that we build to surround our weakening bones that tilt—they may not crumble, but a hard heart does not feel. And without feel, the incredible memories which may bring about our age, they may not surface properly and at the proper stage. For that, I am sad, and I hope to regain what once was had.

This world of ours filled is with charlatans and usurpers, many utilizing themselves as artists and poets, using such nomenclatures as defensive mechanisms to justify their vagrancy around you and me and their insolvency into society. There are those that deserve praise and a pedestal, but the prevalence of information and technology has nullified the art of face value. A keen eye and some caution, you need, as you walk down the street.