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Jan 2019
I’ve lost my aspiration.
The bottoms fallen out of my foundation.
To the extend I can measure
I’ve had more pain than I’ve had pleasure.

People rain on my potential.
They have reasons, spiritual and existential.
They’re high-brow and dogmatic.
They frighten me when they become fanatic!

What’s the point in conversation?
There’s no free speech when there’s dictation.
I won’t answer to any buddha.
They’re mouths, the size of a barracuda.

Pointing fingers as they question.
I won’t be drafted in someone’s obsession.
The meek are the sorest.
I’ll live my last days out in the forest.
sandra wyllie
Written by
sandra wyllie  56/F
(56/F)   
78
 
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