Patched prose poem

Photo by jmurawski

Upon the reflection of the glass, I stare I wonder will it last. The deadly silence out of me, the raging storm inside so deep. Calm and cool I’ll tell myself, to bench and press upon a shelf. Stitched and sown unto the end, with thread so bare it can’t be known. To withered and frayed is my mind, I have no concept of real time. Where upon this life yet still I walk, I watch the people as they flock. Apart and beyond their hands of fate, pondering unto the time I still yet wait. Will I last once again, when erupt the geyser from within. Grasping, clutching piece by piece, tattered remains I do not see. To patch and quilt yet again, rags and scraps from within. Upon the reflection I will not ask, will it stay will it last.

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