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22 / A Journal of Sorts / 9.20.19

This week feels heavy

Far too much for me to bear

It feels like far too much concern

And pulling out of hair. 

Tonight feels like a weighted chest

Sit upon this chest of mine

And nothing sits inside of it

Between its slats of pine

Much like when one looks over edge

To valley laying quiet below

It feels like diving much too deep

And getting pulled further undertow

The future lies beyond the fog

Far past where I can see

And when I squint long enough

It’s reflecting all on me

Fear strikes, dare guess tomorrow’s day

Morning sun would rise anew

When life like this, pass and fade

How can this task, I do?

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