On Too Many Wants
I don’t want to end.
The arrogance of thinking
this skin, heart, brain,
these lungs, eyes, hands and feet
Won’t become binding
Feckless thought
An inescapable limit that presses and chafes
Yet
A sad lack of wondrous faith with the in and out of being
To believe it will become dry, dull, depressing
Your curiosity waning
To a murmur, then blossom to hatred
Your self folding
To a mere shadow of gargantuan potential
Pathetic.
Take the risk
Say I
Curious fool,
Wanting for a thing not earned or deserved
A thing wretched and cruel
A thing glorious and towering
I want it.
Copyright © Nash Reynolds | Year Posted 2021
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