whiff off camphor
none of these life choicesare mine
though they are yours to enjoy
without so much as a batted lash
none of these improvisations
are theirs
though we live barely existing
with not much more than breath
no choice could be given
no chance to chance upon
living and loving out of bounds
perimeter embankment of
social media static hairs
we aren't what we seem
should gladness pop up
from this tin of half used
half punched return tickets
rightness or wrongness
shall not, in this, interfere
nothing we think or say
what was once cherished
has faded away, each moment
this today not the tomorrow
we peered into and reached for
all that's left is a soft head
and sunrises that have bowed
without grace or curtsy, left
with less meaning than rhyme
mine are its dregs, its shadows
theirs, are timbre and tone
its etched curves of bowing;
arches clumsily lowing home
Poetry by arquious
Read 415 times
Written on 2020-09-15 at 08:36
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