Tuesday, March 17, 2020

A Real, Yet Abstract, Purpose

The secondhand shadows of moonlit trees,
We find our way to a satisfaction
And then lose it in fearing to lose it.

Day and night are not deciding what’s next.
The wind has not paused to make up its mind.
Without decisions, no uncertainty.

What would we be, absent our decisions?
We adhere like dew to our decisions,
While another moon dims in the morning.

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