Trudging
through the sludge ahead,
We drag our heavy weight, and wade–
Judging by the trench we’ve made,
Weakened, by the mud we tread.
Fewer
every day, and smothered,
Falling, dying pachyderms.
Dead. Weight. Full of worms.
Straining still,
to drag each other.
Elephants in the Room
by
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