There is nothing you can again anymore say
in relief of blank stares across fields, forests, seas

that ought sate or thwart the deadly
whims of a denialing race,

or disconcert the misplaced pride
of crimes

that longwinded tribes
of goldseekers sought.

To this very day treasure’s pursuit at expense of good of will
confines the ugliness of earth to steadfast surface hearts

who water dross tinsel soils
with trinkets of their loss through toil

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