If but the flesh would give
up its struggle with the mind,
wither like the hand that
signed the peace, collapsing
on waiting arms on the station,
if only the flesh would give up
its war with the mind, so
that the mind could carve
its fleeting triumphs on
some coastal rock lapped
by the rising seas' waves
before they sank or crumble
into future's erasing grasp.
05.12.2023
#Poem #Poetry #Poems #Verse
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