Poem

Sometimes, it’s just not ready.
Straining, hovering, like a seacoast
sunset; burning all the mental activity
one thinks, delivering self-mandated
sufferings-
I will never be what I am again.
But of course, none of this is true.

-M. Taggart

 

If anyone can think of a name for this,
that’d be great lol

8 thoughts on “Poem

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