todays / we sold

those thoughts we think but never say
like darkness on the edge of day;
till grief comes knocking on our door
and leaves us lonely, sick and poor

in seasons of our reticence,
mid symbols laced with sorrow —
todays we spend in timeless rue,
because we sold
tomorrow

Author: Beleaguered Servant

Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure.

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