The Runner’s Paradox

Son
Never travel
This world
awash with anguish
flooded with fear
This world
bathed in beauty
cerulean sphere
is sprinkled
with a sparkling smear
of silver sand
which, once adhered
to foot and hand
demand eternal dual
of takeoff and land
until you stand
unable to understand
bland trance
of a trillion troubled termites
who build and build with all their might
How they hammer the gravel
How they hamper satisfaction
with their gifts and distractions
their rifts and their factions
remainders and fractions
deaths and contractions
equal and opposite reactions
horror, romance, lightscameraction
attacks on the mind as they watch it unravel
Son
Never travel

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