Mangling time’s perfection.
Persistent in the notion
“I’m aware.” “Informed.”
I dare to doubt the
consistent, devout
faultless guide of galaxies wide
and oceans clear, explode or roll near
all the while, eons or a mile
never knowing fear, they. Deserted
in the barren undertow of my mind.
Confined. In spaces limited, the ending’s
where I find consolation. Isolation.
Imprisoned emancipation
is still 
a death not defied.
Only without answers
come the questions
to the wonders,
the wanders
laced in courage
for every laugh
I’ve laughed
for every tear I’ve cried.
Step back.





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