PoemsPerDay

8.15.2015

old faces look out

at distances they

cannot fathom

to times that

disappear

into what.

there was always

purpose, task

now only days

seemingly empty

no apparent

seeming except

to breathe and

weaken.

is it disillusion or

simply that bodies

wear and that

is their way

while souls seem

to want to do, to know,

and to grow

and to wait seems so

hollow.

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