Below is the poem entitled Stress which was written by poet
Ratcliffe. Please feel free to comment on this poem. However, please remember, PoetrySoup is a place of encouragement and growth.
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the fate that draws life near to me,
stretching out my palms to understand the emptiness
of my propriety.
Some rushing knuckles
through roots and eggshells,
but no gold dug,
just the fleet of mud.
I'll sprout a wrinkle
and regret the day
I let my wits run with anxiety.