What an unimaginable feat of accomplishment:
to strive and have, but to live for naught.
When sad moments of reality breach the dam’s capacity,
then overflow into the fantasy of what might have been,
there is a strange area of not “being”, now a part of the epiphany.
Were I to jump from here to the past, unable to wish for anything other than this,
accepting a journey I had no expectation for– losing faith in words;
becoming something I could never have thought to be,
a certain version of me: a person of long, slow thinking.
Why would my faith waiver now?
As I stumble upon false promises for a future I never wanted.

This entry was posted in Poetry.

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