When worlds collide

There is always cross-pollination

With worlds so disparate

It is seen as cross-contamination


In that dialectic

Spoken through blood and fire

The ratiocination that follows

Is salted earth and scorched fields


Violence is a rule

Violence begets violence

Iron fists paradoxically

Dig rebellion from the earth


The lofty clouds of abstraction

Paint the happy sky of morning

Though the smog covered battleground

Is painted the more striking shade of red






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