in the thinning,
withering oblivion
of the human condition,
we masquerade weakness
as acceptance
of the instant.


this existence
erodes like earth
along the riverbanks of time
as hours gush by,
and chunks of sediment

sentiments aching
to be part of the ride.


in what shall I confide
when these sighs travel
like love letters
lost in the mail:
but unaware they will never arrive
at intended eyes.


I wish I could stop and listen
for clarity
and not collide
with the happenstance
of each instant,
being derailed
by random infringements
of the heart.


here we part.
my words grant the maximum possible solace
afforded by art,
but never enough
to keep me from sidling
into the crevices of the dark,
where I can close my eyes
in attempts to forget there’s an ending
to all that will start.



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