I'm sick
with an overgrown soul
looking blight at the task at hand
weary of what's next to do
but what I do today effects tomorrow
it is a line of sorts
And today I am alone at home
wishing for contact, longing for love
with such beauty prostrated
I only gaze and imagine
as the moments slip I retreat from the mountain
escaping into the solace of self
the dreary outcome of moments unlived
And whether a tower is constructed
or one slides away to a lower outcome
contact has been made & committed to the soul
so that in time, when it youthens, as it does
there will be another point of wisdom for light to pass
these I do not consider blocks
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