and Ozymandias, mighty
looked upon his works and despaired. I feel like this would work well as the ending to a longer poem that, sadly, has not yet been written (one of my working titles is "Elon Musk Surveys Twitter" XD) - Atlas
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give me room to change and grow
but call me out if I seem fit to join the undertow just a few lines that came to me today - Atlas and I don't think love is ever perfect,
not when it's real. it's always too big or too small, hands too clumsy to grasp it or give it, tongue tripping over the right words to say and spilling them everywhere in a great big beautiful mess. and yet it is still good - Atlas let’s trade truths back and forth
until the world ends or we run out out of things to say. whichever happens first. blargh - Atlas as always, who knows
if it will be enough? but things are better now than they would have been otherwise. maybe that's a different kind of enough. also the point of diminishing returns - Atlas after the fact,
I think of a million different things that I no longer have control of. I flinch at everything I've ever said. but the sun still rises the next morning. I still have a chance to try again. and again, and again - Atlas the flower is gone
but it remains, immortalized in my camera roll six years later. as my eyes trace those gentle curves for a moment, I remember the awe that compelled me to reach for my camera. - - - - - - - - - - one day death will come and sit at the edge of my bed. and if I am still conscious I imagine I will think oh god, this is it this is really it was it enough did I do it right can I stay a little longer just to say goodbye I’m sorry thank you-- or maybe I won’t be conscious at all. maybe my last words will be sleep well, see you in the morning. wrote two poems today (why are so many of them focusing on death recently??) - Atlas good enough
is a haunting question, indeed but I am going to die no matter what. even if I made no mistakes I still would not live forever, & I would not be able to save the world either. this feels unfinished - Atlas take this time
to understand the dying, pull up a chair and listen or sit in silence. you are together now. someday you won’t be. hold these truths in your hands like smooth stones. weigh them and set them free. hm - Atlas sometimes I want to live every day of my life
as if I had returned to it after a hundred years of being dead-- for every moment, however small or simple becomes something worth cherishing. a man on his knees in a cathedral could feel less awe than I do now, tracing my fingers over the soft grain of wood on my desk. hrmmmmmmm - Atlas |
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