We dream our lives away,
the lucky ones; the unlucky
ones toil them away, or
are blown to bits by a missile,
starved to death or shot
on the yard of a burned
hospital. We, the lucky
ones, moan that our
hopes came to nothing
because we didn't
seize the day. How
foolish we, twice.
20.04.2024
#Poem #Poems #Poetry #Verse
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