This Present Dystopia

I come from a sacred land

Where the crows aren’t the only ones who eat the dead

Where owls aren’t the only ones with a memory

Where rain rises up from the ground we walk on

Fame in a name is as rare as a unicorn

And death is just a thing of make believe

Old men can turn young again

And love is a thing that’s freely given

And then I wake up to see that it’s all a dream

Now I see a thirsty world

Absent of all water

Silently I cry a tear

For my unborn daughter

And then I fall hopelessly back into sleep

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