Blind-Sighted
this un-forsaken foreshore between high and low waters
each precious grain determined by predestinated thought.
a whispered soul to cherish. cross this shoreline for a future
my premature appearance fought for and WON — does one forget?
it would appear so
each chosen moment dropped
from off of both my feckless thumbs.
such waves of pure regret
crash in baleful silence
the sands within my hourglass
a sunken drift
across this face of time
and so i cast my eye inward
toward the darker side of life
where here deceased souls rise from out their graves.
cleansed. re-birthed. eager for a fresh new start.
is this now what i crave for? or —
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