Poem: Thirty Three and a Third

The vinyl placed, the stylus falls
The tune begins with anguished calls
Cutting grooves, ripping our souls
The heavy bumps, the empty holes

We push, we fight, try to make light
The hour soon dawns, and we will cower
A quick spark, a fleeting sight
Of hope that something might
But that flower is of poisoned birth
Venomous hope making us glower

Some they shatter, at their own choosing
We pity them yet we envy them
For we that stay are the losing
The abuse and bemuse, we try to stem
But that eternal record player, relentless
And the tune it carves into us, relentless


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