Strife


Light and dark take a backseat to grey,
their all knowing cousin.

Joined by the notion that the people hovering near,
huddle in fear when there is nothing but each other.

Under the fog of the mob they forget themselves,
and remember what animals they once inhabited.

Sinking lower than they meant to,
finding solace in the club, the rock, the fire.

Even at the first and last step,
meaning has little if you dismiss the word itself.

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