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The land is parched.
The trees are bare -
they stand like burnt skeletons:
dead soulless sentinels
left as markers or
signs, signs of the times.
The sun no longer is seen;
each day brings only gray
flat, formless clouds above.
I cannot bear
this time, this place,
this reality.
Gone are most colors...
all that remains are dark
browns and shades of gray.
Some say the end is near.
They have more hope than I do.
I think this monotony,
days like this, these days,
will go on and on and on
forever.
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