Weakens, and I falter, falling
Like bricks to the ground.
What is this lack?
A disability? Something
Prevents the true self
From blooming.
I follow the warmth
The sun casts down
During the day,
And close my door
To the cold night.
Routine is boring,
Though I grasp on
To it, as if life depends
Upon it.
I stood firm, strength
Emanated from my eyes.
A small pin prick in
The heart, and vulnerability
Poured out, onto the ground.
Where is truth? Is it
Constant like the sky?
Predictable like the Sun,
To where we can measure
It with hours and seconds,
Until a New truth evolves,
Leaving some in the dark.
Work to survive, though people
Everyday struggle just to be alive.
There has to be more,
Within this frail flesh, fragile
Bones. My fortitude sometimes
Weakens, and my spirit collapses,
Though I remain, following the Sun,
Waiting for the Spring to come.
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