A Panic-Filled Night

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  • Nature

    A Panic-Filled Night

    Darkness falls, trees start to burn
    Everyone is yelling, but no one can be heard
    Babies are crying mothers are screaming
    I can’t believe my ears, can’t we all just be dreaming?
    Alarms go off, glass starts to shatter
    Things start to crack, does it all really matter?
    Lava flows down, people start dying
    Some have burns and others are crying
    Cement starts to form all in their bodies
    Some are already dead, piled in the lobbies
    People are panicking, running all around
    The volcano starts to rumble and makes a horrible sound
    People are scared, running in fright
    And this my friends, ends my panic-filled night.

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    Poetry is not an expression of the party line. It's that time of night, lying in bed, thinking what you really think, making the private world public, that's what the poet does.

    Allen Ginsberg (1926-1997) U.S. poet.

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