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Poem

The Dying Light

Creative Journal #4

A park at blue hour with a lamp glowing under the trees, photo by Nicholas J. Tropiano

I look around at the dying light that illuminates humanity’s face.

Souls trapped in the realm of mankind’s manmade.

I’m frozen in place. Just as they are.

When the light dies they’ll pursue a charge.

Just before they do. They will wish they hadn’t.