In This Place
in the greater scheme of things
nothing really matters
the fervent endeavours
of our daily lives are easily erased
we try and build legacies
we try and try
but even kings are forgotten
even kings suffer ridicule.
what of the fools?
what of peasants?
what of slaves endentured to the whims
of the pseudosanctified industry?
this dead thing
we breathe our life into.
like God breathed a soul into Adam.
yet... we are not gods.
we huff and awake the monster.
it masticates and spews us out.
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Comments about this poem (In This Place by Rae Edson )
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