April 26, 2022.

rusted gears

Iíve have seen much and felt it all
Iíve cursed at death herself
and poured her whiskey on the rocks
Parts of me still remain the way they were

It does not feel like persevering and overcoming
I donít look back and salute my efforts and bravery
When in hot water, I get softer - not stronger
I mourn the child who was taught to run first

I find myself in the middle ground,
between the rusted gears that slowly stopped turning -
and the ones who hog all the oil and have the privilege of prevention
Just another busy machine with all too human suffering and no one to listen

Poetry by aidan haskel
Read 153 times
Written on 2022-04-27 at 00:18

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Uncle Meridian The PoetBay support member heart!
I'm especially liking lines two and three. And the last stanza is quite strong, vivid.