Your Wingman
One is snuffed, one comes on,
a torch gets passed.
From the deceased something is new again.
The ghosts of all my selves
still light their wicks.
I clapped for breath and called it victory.
Bittersweet gold trophies,
tears for top tier.
I’m glad mine’s not for participation.
There’s a new finish line,
sign the contract.
Hand yourself over to reinvention.
Spirits are saluting
the staircases.
Continue to climb, the past’s your wingman.
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