It is myself to whom I speak in sonnet form

5121

Trapped in  cultivated  ways ,we may  forget
That usefulness can also be a trap.
Am I the one who never makes a bet?
Am I  the one who always has the map?

 

We are no automata, we are flesh.
And even older brains can be rewired
Maybe we need to do what may seem rash
Light   ourselves more brilliant mental fires.

 

Reluctance seems  to  cage us with our fear.
Though ,despite our wishes, we each age and die.
Time goes and  the end will soon be here
But  is it ever too late  for  one try?

 

It is myself to whom I speak in sonnet form
Anxiety is  fierce  until we learn.

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About Kate4grace

I love writing and conversation,wild flowers,music and air
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