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Fireworks, weeping blood red upwards into the sky
I keep my head down, my shoulders hunched, and still
I shudder a little at each shot. My hands dug deep
In my pockets, walking past all these houses
whose lights reach into the dark unthinkingingly.
Every place I have walked past: some guy
Who got the girl, someone who succeeded in life
Where I failed. And If i can spin some half meant words
In time to my trudging feet, my fists clenched into unfriendly fists
What difference does that make
To those who stand inside of their house, arms that are tattoo'd or not
Parting ugly curtains, staring down the straight line
Of the approach road to this new estate
What difference that they never think if the fields or scrub that
Filled this land before they did:
They turn back from the dark
What difference does it make?
I stalk past the new houses, turn, walk back the other way
Head down, fists clenched in my pockets, unable to face
The question of these stupid new windows.
__________________
"Do not tell lies, and do not do what you hate,
for all things are plain in the sight of Heaven. For nothing
hidden will not become manifest, and nothing covered will remain
without being uncovered."
The Gospel of Thomas
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