Failed Wishes
The yearly line I chose to change course
is a self-afflicted wound
that bleeds each day, as I travel
the universe that spins in darkness
on its journey through the blackness of space
a second, a year, does not matter
if finding a reason to nurture my soul
comes once a year, in the form of wishes
to be met that are useless
where reason is held far beyond
the time I measure
in the lineal thread of changing light
until I measure a new year
where the seed of failure is planted once again
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