Haiku #181 – #183


The past is always more innocent.
And so, what am I still innocent of?
Those horrors yet to come.


Politics, here, does not work.
Its shape, the contour and flow
Of power dressed as people.


Whose dreams am I within
If not mine. Who owns
My gait, a look, a thought.

2 thoughts on “Haiku #181 – #183

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