Virgins they
Maturation lost at sea
Sand between
Under each
Over two
Peninsula to populate
Isle of the idle minds
Sharpened sticks and rounded rocks
Telling of better time
Educate and procreate
Neath our head
Nothing like bread
Poor excuse for substance
Something less than barely
Inanimate flesh
A landing strip for flies
Treasures in them
Smoke could not hide their sins
The adults never learned to wade or swim or look
Throwaway
Past the paling
Peelings of our organs
Trailings of our inners
Path for the preachers to cannibalize their members
Our ancestors invite chosen us for dinner
Tides that tell lies
Across the waves she waits
An innocent mother
Impossible
Yet this shall be her fate
Hideaway the records
Burning journals
Tearing diaries in five
So nobody noses around our sphere
This liberty we found
Has killed the offspring
Slain the future
Ruined us
Pass away
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