Poetry

In the way

I

It’s like dust
And our age,
The sour smell
But benefits of sage…
Or the healing
Within the spring-
To only break
With winter’s swing…
It’s like the rage
Of a perfect storm
Whipping the page
And breaking the norm…
It’s like marriage
Strong and true-
Only to break
Before you knew…
It’s like the scream
After the cry-
No matter the effort,
Ours are or my…
And it’s uttering
Your greatest fear
Yes a laugh
Before truth by tears…
Each day is life-
Here or not,
In the way…
An afterthought.

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