Posted in Blog, Original Poetry, Writing

Designed

I can feel it in my bones.
I’m running out of time.
All the things left undone
that will never make their prime.
Tasks scattered like stones,
the fighting, forceful tries falling from their run.
But it’s not the things I’ll never do
or the ones left behind.
It’s the feeling I forgot my own demise.
I’m standing well after the final hour
than what had long since been designed.

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