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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