ashes & elites

ashes of the every man
clash with
ideas
death
is a neat affair,

his lifespan blown away
with wind.

passive despair
black and grey
beats against the drum of
currents,

as if his essence realized
(finally)
it had no
purpose but
to be a tourniquet
for matter which
yearned to walk.

Playing
hop scotch with
a war on
tranquillity,

population:
infinity

as cities of his certainty were
built and fell,

and he
became a shell,

invincibility to his poisoning
the well
repealed

so that he
would, too, feel
this burning in our chests,
cancers of discontent,
heartbroken voices in my
head,

as his ashes stretch
across the sea,

just like the
rest of
us,

settling at the bottom of
obscurity.

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