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Tuesday, 8 March 2011


The box croaks forwards.
In it sits the careless one.
Left, right, left, she glances.
She looks, but she doesn't see.
Her engine churns, oblivious to the crescendo it is beginning.
The eye of time blinks, and carnage is apparent.
A biker, lies. His bike, strewn across the floor.

For a moment, there is silence. Perhaps it isn't silence, but no one hears a sound.
What happened?
"We didn't see him and he didn't see us" She declares.
With it goes her guilt.

Sirens sing, beckoning the weak soul to a waiting.
The hospital is limbo.
Everything he knew, gone in a second.
Moral carelessness wraithes the reich.
I must question how such behaviour can be exhibited,
how can we let fools have killing machines?
Cars in the wrong hands kill.
Mind you, hands in the wrong hands kill.
It is apparent that I must just sweep this injustice under the carpet.
I am simply a bystander to accidents, but it's vehemence haunts me.
How can one care more about the transport of life more than of life itself?
Be late for something, but be human.

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