What did you always used to do?
And now you don't. And it's killing you.
Who did you always want to be?
And now you don't.
Anyway, you can't. It's gone up ahead,
no way to see.
Why must we always be these ways?
Unable to hold, unable to keep
as the changes creep in between days
and weeks, and amaze us with fits
that suffocate -
- where all used to be wild, free air,
sunlit waves, green hills, trees and sheep,
folding into dreams
that awaken to futures of cities and skies
we'd stride every day toward,
worth all our lives
But it's not the person who used to be
going forward to meet whatever shall come.
And a good bet, whatever there is
won't bring back what you wanted it for
in the first place, hon.
But maybe some.
Then again, maybe more than what
we imagined will come.
A Pocketful of Poesy was and is again a Poem-a-Day(-on-Average) Blog! For 2009, 2010, 2011, 2012, and now for 2017 and going forward, you may expect to see 365 poems every year, 366 for leap years.
but aren't they all random?
Tuesday, July 06, 2021
made manifest
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