This Ritual

i know not how to stay its wrath

this ritual of bounden detachment

from everything
and everyone

both to and fro

as sorrow, slow
e’er gathers
at the dawn where wilting petals cease

some prophecies
will self-fulfill

from roots bound in stone
amid a concrete moment

an imminent decision
of compulsory indignance
unavailed by options present

in the absence of one’s freedom

and if it is
that i cannot be free
to live my life

then so it is
to live
begets me naught
but mere impedance

an imposition
toward a poisoned path
once thought impossible

in ponderance, i sit
deconstructing the illusion

through elusive memories
scattered in bits of truth
and twice retold

as tales of indeliblity failed
through flailing words anachronistic

resigned to a happenstance
of indolent alienation

in the confines of its stoic dissolution

my only hope
hung pendulously
on a rope of tenuous entwine

and time’s aloof refusal
of its merit
as to bear my weight

resolving fate
however late
foregone and long forgotten


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