Tuesday, July 10, 2012

sonnet one hundred seventy two

not seemingly enough,
we stretch ourselves -
who we were, who we ought
to be, who we are as of now,

and then when our skin
breaks, the muscles tear
and the bones snap,
love and chemistry splatter

on the ground, look at what
we have turned into -
geeks of lore and myth,

of a journey we say we
will embrace, a phantom that
sneaks in, a light bursting out.

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