Pale of the zebra

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Caught between the pale of the zebra shadows,
Here lifting up one-eyed from beneath the leaves,
Solace sits on boards amongst weathered moments,
These seconds to get up, a time to leap the fence,
Barriers old, stationary before these wandering bones,
Set out to a forest of thoughts no words can catch,
A visual land adrift on the mind’s last film,
Something to share of what last did you see,
The tints, the colours, shades of experience,
All about to walk from a silent memory watching,
Untold stories plastered across life, and adventure,
Each waiting to spill in ink across cotton rag parchment,
But still I sit in the doorway, thinking of walking back inside,
To take a shower, find some fresh clothes, perhaps
Venture out to the river, or gardens maybe,
Instead of just sitting here wasting in thoughts of a world,
A world lost, a world drowning in its own sea,
Its sea of chaos, and killing, of selling lies, and sowing deceit,
No harvest today, for a world tapped out in waste,
How did it get to be such a crazed lost place?

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