denying forever

the day feels flat
barely able to mold into relief
more likely to be crumpled up
like a piece of paper

thrown away
in the waste of time

how to salvage such a beginning?
mistakes that are only mistakes
by looking back

the fall of sand
the tick of a clock
the empty pages
of a book not written

where is my hope?
where is joy and peace?
arduous task of looking forward
and knowing
strength is in the mind
or maybe the heart

certainly not the flow and ebb
of a summer day
with me judging myself

success is overcoming regrets
with a smile
rest gets crumpled up anyway
a waste of time
never really lost
when these pages do not decay

when the flat essence
is merely waiting
to be spread again
formed into a quiet nature of matter
abstracting time
… never pauses for nothing



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