There Is Nothing Left

Am I
the prairie
or the pit?

Am I
the marsh
or the abyss?

I've tried
to match the
expectations of others.

I've tried
to dig the
hole in the mountain.

I know
now what I am
subject to the whim.

I know
now what I must
be the serpent under the flower.

Time will
make the flower wilt
petal by petal till dust.

Time will
make the serpent grow,
gorging on the rancor till...

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