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If the world could be written

If the world was written in sand
Then everything that was built by hand
Would be washed away, with every wave:
What we speak, how we often behave

If the world was written on wood
Then everything that is then could
Drift away on an endless ocean
Every thought, every emotion

If the world was written on paper
Then everything that was saved for later
Could be lost in a blazing fire
Like the sins we so harshly desire

If the world was written on glass
Then everything could easily pass
Unnoticed, and, so easily shattered
Like the tears that often are scattered

If the world was written on ice
Then everything that would suffice
Would melt in an ocean of grief
Filled with fear and with no relief

If the world was written on stone
Then everything that could have been blown
Would remain, endlessly present
Like our love, our kindness, our heaven

If the world was written like this,
Then everything would have been bliss.

Yet, the world is written in blood
In despair and darkness and mud
In pain, sadness and terror
Crushing us without error.



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