Elements of Age

sounds like acceptance.

Poetry on the run

I find scaffolds and pillars
crumbling into haphazard walls.
I find the elements of myself separated by desire,
forming moats around who I am and am not –
the hammer and anvil where the blade of confusion
is beaten out straight.
 
With age metal hardens or softens
according to the skill of the smith.
With age I will expand or contract
according to the desire I forge with who I am and am not –
where the blade of confusion is beaten out straight.
 
 
 
 

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