A Complex Number
I'm half-way through this one..,
and long before it becomes one,
I usually erase the
entire thing
I chose to call a poem.
But after a while, one thinks,
That like energy,
the truth radiates in spurts..
That continuity is a daydream,
That all growth is involuntary,
That not all coincidences are coincidental.
...
Like things, people too die,
and, that just like the root of a negative one,
One too, was an imaginary i.
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