Making sense

Who understands this world? I produce all these catch phrases, to amuse myself. Words to rule my life, but i still fall down.

The scars are piling high. There is no one to climb the mountain. Even i am too tired.

So, tomorrow, when i am considering “Church is poetry. Poetry is life. A life well-lived.” will i listen to the song i hum as i walk? Or will i remain the shattered thing that has missed the mark every time i attempt to run?

Musings Poetry

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