Poem: This Here, This Now

This here,
This now.
We marched, strolled, ran, raced, even.
Towards this place.

We ran,
because promise sparkles and shimmers.
Like sunshine
fizzed in a sodastream.

We ran,
but smoke sows blindness
and soon the thing, the prize
was impossible to see, to hold.

False realities rust
like scorched steel in the rain.
This pile of bent iron, bricks and a teapot,
Scattered on a charred black earth.

This here,
this now.
Is it this that we were looking for?

STOP PRESS! Actually, start the press.

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