In attempts to become inert

I turn to the exhaustion

of every cell in my body.

Life is sand,

held loosely in the palm of a giant’s hand–

known as the Cosmos

ever expanding.

What is a soul?

Stardust and water needing a vessel that is forever falling down

tripping up quick steps on a journey toward success.

With no movement

accepting an incomplete self comes easy,

no progress becomes the modus operandi

the thought “I’m happy” becomes a banner

on a slow, painful death march.

Instead of pursuing

life and adventure

I get caught up

in losing hope for a future.

This entry was posted in Poetry.

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