Our World

In a perfect world

Sleep would cure the tired

A bandage would repair a wound

Peace would bloom from conflict

And medicine heal the diseased

 

But homeless fear the night and do not sleep

Innocent victims see wounds of anger grow infected

Wars come from men of conflict to the masses

And disease still ravages the purest of souls

In this imperfect world of ours

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7 thoughts on “Our World”

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