Write It

Sometimes the shadows of dreams must be shelved to rest the mind. Do not leave them too long for you may forget for which you dive. Strive for that belief.  Know that against pretense there is a future. 

It is with our hands that we find a way. Create that existence that yields the quota. Not a number on a belt or a heart trap that was not set. We are the elixir. A vile that does not try. Yelling silent tears of misbelief. It was my turn to speak up. 

Hands folded and foot stood. Someone else took the plunge. Then what are you holding in a hand that could not pretend. What was the you that once knew? Find that story you wrote but never read. It is buried behind those shoes you never wore.   


Running gear collecting dust. It’s been cold but not an excuse.

 My pack has been pushed to the side while I get on with the day job. 

 My morning ride on the elevator to the garment manufacturer.  

To speak up is awkward but to say nothing and walk away is regret.



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