Saturday, August 20, 2016

FORMLESS


FORMLESS

This aged suit is threadbare and tattered,
 been scattered in more ways and places
than I can  recall.

The man in this mirror looks strange to me.
There are hairs growing on the outside of my nose
that I can only see with my readers.

My soul is still a child,
innocent,
 and doesn't understand


this slow decay into formlessness.


I am tired and retired,
given plenty of time to ponder
what this life was all about, 
what this life was meant to be, 
what this life may yet reveal..

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