There's a pleading tone to this question I battle before and after I ask
A not so simple, "why can't I just let the past be the past?"
I know at first glance,
I'm nothing more than moth in a trance
Pinging off the same piece of backlit display glass
An abused mind easily transfixed, statue still and steadfast
While running summer Olympic qualifying fast, all gass
Feet growing roots, interlocking with blades of grass
A introspective narrative of an internal impasse

©2024