April 26, 2022.
I’ve cursed at death herself
and poured her whiskey on the rocks
Parts of me still remain the way they were
It does not feel like persevering and overcoming
I don’t look back and salute my efforts and bravery
When in hot water, I get softer - not stronger
I mourn the child who was taught to run first
I find myself in the middle ground,
between the rusted gears that slowly stopped turning -
and the ones who hog all the oil and have the privilege of prevention
Just another busy machine with all too human suffering and no one to listen
Poetry by aidan haskel
Read 246 times
Written on 2022-04-27 at 00:18
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rusted gears
I’ve have seen much and felt it allI’ve cursed at death herself
and poured her whiskey on the rocks
Parts of me still remain the way they were
It does not feel like persevering and overcoming
I don’t look back and salute my efforts and bravery
When in hot water, I get softer - not stronger
I mourn the child who was taught to run first
I find myself in the middle ground,
between the rusted gears that slowly stopped turning -
and the ones who hog all the oil and have the privilege of prevention
Just another busy machine with all too human suffering and no one to listen
Poetry by aidan haskel
Read 246 times
Written on 2022-04-27 at 00:18
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
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