Bent to a slouch,
unbeknownst…

That we walk
never unladen.

And perhaps only later,
burdened
by the wreaths
around our necks.

Unbeknownst

Jun 6, 2026

Those wreaths are the invisible years that shape the destiny we face . With only one final one adorning the memory of the remains we once were .

&#8220;never unladen&#8221; great write ryn&#8230;