We fight to come

And we fight to go

We wrestle with our unchanging curls

Like the wind wrestles with supple tree branches

Insistent on bringing about a change

When the only possible change

After a storm of this magnitude

Is destruction.

Shells upon shells of placated beings

Conforming to and fro

And commuting fro and to

In single files of black and white

Sometimes merging

A caramel or two

But mostly

A swede and his chocolate

We fight to come

We fight to go

But more often than not

Get stuck in between.

Published by alexiima

Life's a party in a sunflower field. Even when we wilt, we are beautiful to behold.

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