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Over the rainbow, bluebirds wept,
their wings besplintered in the wind
that tore their dreams as dust storm swept
their colors gone, no songs to spin.

Greenbacked houses stood no chance
against this wind’s haughty blow,
inflating past the market dance
and landing where the whirlwinds go.

Behind the mirrored smoke’s confide
are men that garnish powered wealth.
Should that curtain be pulled aside,
they’ll wash away for all their wealth.

My vision boils away this face.
My amber waves against the grain.
Protected in its sacred place,
my bluebird dies to sing again.

(Note: posted for Open Link night at DversePoets)

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