And as he ran from misery,
He made himself the livery.

To where? And when to return?
To be renewed or to adjourn,

The worry of impending time.
That was unfolding, seeking rhyme.

The man warring with himself.
Put his unrest on a shelf.

He left it there, as he wandered.
To find life ‘twas not yet squandered.

As he turned, as he escaped,
It evoked passion, it spawned agape.

It was a thing from his youth.
But now pursued as a truth,

To the man he had become.
Despite his age, he was not done.

It was the spirit of a boy.
A boy with wisdom to employ.

He craved progress, the work ahead.
The soul had burned, but then be fed.

So, he sits there in a sea.
With a shaking at the knees.

With the flies in his belly.
It was a sign, it was a telly.

When his fear gets the best.
And he goes black for the rest.

Sadness wanes and becomes hope.
Excitement overtaking cope.

Captures his joy on this edge.
Yearning leaves, stripped and dredged.

At the edge just like his prey.
The price is neigh for him to pay.

The suffering and the ado,
There’s no true life ‘til death’s in view.
© 2023 TheRememberings Ltd.

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