#46) The Deviant Ones

We are the outcasts, your disparaged springs, of wisdom and faith; of virulent dreams

We hold the future inside our breasts; we’ve viewed the memoirs, and seen all the best

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But still, you hold us in plaintive contempt; and yet won’t accept the reason we’re sent

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You pitfall of vipers, you are so far gone; we soon shall not speak and let you alone

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We are the painters, of illusions you crave; we are the writers of words you once gave

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So freely from hearts, now tarnished, enslaved; by whimsical wealth which leads to the grave

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How soon you forget the echo of rain, the elusive warmth felt just after the pain

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Has been washed away, alongside dismay, which fills up your mind, and ruins each day

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How soon you forget your innermost self; smothered and starved, in vulnerable health

We seek to remind you of all good things; your passion, your hope, your innocent dreams

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We are the ones blazing the trail, speaking for they who sigh and travail

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We are the only life left in this hell; and without our lights…you surely will fail 

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