#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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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