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Natasha Mar 2018
I fall,

   too fast                

I jump

                    too high                

I stop

before I                

reach



the sky                



I feel

too deep              

I say

too much              

and
sometimes,

I don't say            

quite

enough.


imagine,

running after
the two o'clock train
at two o'three

in the pouring rain

thinking of
all the places
you have
to be...

you keep pace,

with your shoes
hitting the
puddled pavement

wondering where
all that
time went

still thinking
maybe


you can catch it.



loss of a dream,
it steams away.

so you slow,

your smile fades.

your hands grow cold.

and faces age.

year after year,
stuck at
two o'three
watching
passing trains
in the pouring rain,

wondering,
when your time
will be.
mm
Poetic T Dec 2017
The days repeat,
for a lifetime of groundhog days.
that evade the conciseness.
As if hiding in plain sight
                   yet were echoes of before.

Our lives are woven in to
                     twenty three hours,
fifty nine minutes,
                  sixty seconds of rinse & repeats.

Where caged in our meaningless
             eventuality.
A mind numbed,
    by the sanitation of our existence,
                 a reiteration of life's decay.

— The End —