Some things persist,
Regardless of the passage
Of time.
The clutching of my
Heart,
The reversion to
Introverted silence,
The perpetual outsider
Winding ever inward.
One would have
Thought the test
Would be over,
The blessing bestowed,
The space to belong
Granted.
Perhaps my own
Internal barometer
Is faulty,
Counting and measuring
Something that doesn’t
Really exist.
Perhaps not.
Categories: Poetry