Torn Pages # 24

Those aged sages

with whom I completed my sentence

 

Are they still there?

 

With their sacrosanct sneezes

in their torn plastic bags

 

It took them ages to

discover what all was eaten

 

kind savages

who rummaged for my halo

in their hollow pockets

 

When ‘it’ was not found

they put me in that cage

where rage melts with time

and then they sold me in less than a dime.

 

Signed

A (dot)

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