Artifice

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The crafty invention of fools

Leaks its black fluid into footprints of unrest

Conditioning and chattering the motor churns

Imposing its nocturnal smoke.

The peaceful pale blue sky

Passive and with fortitude

Had the guts to feel remorse

For the atramentous old motor.

The white daises smiled

As they fought through the aggression

To dance in the breeze

And grow to the sky.

The brave sat in silence

With open eyes

Watching

The daises

And the sky

Prevail.