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Tuesday, September 08, 2009


I cachinnate at all our three-chord songs,
at all attempts to fit in and belong.
Derision greets the slogans that I loathe,
the mindless humming of our T.V. shows.

But I discover what we all have known;
I dig, display emotions all have known;
subscribed to trends, like all have done before;
subjected life to patterns used before.

For we are humans, similar and all;
restrictions bind us to a common thread.
We tread for freedom, hear its blatant call,
but realize there’s only us ahead.

And we’re so all alike, recycling,
as if there is no news but our dis-ease.

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A word is dead
When it is said,
Some say.

I say it just
Begins to live
That day.

- Emily Dickinson

Thanks, Wordle!