ON THE TWO HUNDREDTH AND FOURTY-FIRST DAY OF THE YEAR

For twenty-eight years

I have been dying, a lich

of the person I was

growing to be; that

is common enough,

little reason to lament.

We and the world both

are keen to put obstacles

on our upward path.

And we, not the world,

decide to wait and see

if the obstacles would

rotten and decompose

before we ourselves do.

So I have the flesh of

my mind, the true garb

we wear, fallen off my

skeletal frame, and

still the obstacle stands,

and still I stand waiting

without tearing it down.

01,09.2023

#Poem #Poems #Poetry #Verse