I do not fear mistakes,
I fear the essence of mistakes which
Many are oblivious to.
They grow, y'know?
They grow as you do,
As you get old.
The more experienced you get,
The more skillful they've honed,
More intricate, subtle.
Younger mistakes dilute me plenty.
Until 20 months later it happens again,
Like a mirror between the period spent.
Great man learn from it and
Swear to never do it twice upon self-lashing.
Lesser man swear to never do it again.
And do it again in the next room.
Cowards dilute themselves as some sort of
perfect being.
Everyday-man ignores it.
I've seen it grow like a child I never met,
Upon each turn I
renegade it.
Like an untied shoelace.
The ever-present, natural test.
Now I'm Uncertain
who's following who?
YOU ARE READING
It's three in the morning.
PoetryI wanted to resonate some undefined emotions that ain't as tacky as a word. A small collection of poems I wrote when I could not sleep. Or (mostly) of my personal experiences.
