Poem #410

My words are suffering the inevitable  
passage of time.  
Work that was once inspired with passion, 
love and pain, now is overtaken with remorse and regret. 

It makes me wonder what’s in store if this is happening so early? 
What “what ifs” will flood the notebooks in my nightstand, 
will my choices and circumstances be nothing but a burden 
I place on these shoulders that are already cracking under the pressure? 


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