---
These corkboards were once filled
with countless papers,
but now, they removed it 'cause
the end is getting closer.
The reminders were once overflowing
with deadly deadlines,
but now, time is overflowing,
and we must reread the lines.
Soon, I'll be leaving good things,
the race to the canteen,
the laughter over the trippings,
the idiots we had been.
Soon, I'll be leaving bad things,
the condition, "If you want us to be close,
agree with a gossip or two."
How fool--I almost paid through the nose.
I made those rhymes
a week ago,
leaving them unfinished;
time felt slow.
I was sitting
on a cubed compass' southwest;
I loved that time,
although it wasn't the very best.
I made my way to my locker,
removed the things I left,
tried to remember the flicker,
and ran with the past's theft.
Same staircase, same destination
but different way.
I did not keep right in the stairs
as I drifted away.
On my way home, words traveled,
the breeze traveled there from the first
classic book I had fully read
years ago, when nothing is still cursed.
I had the same padlock in my hand,
the same padlock I used for days of freshmen.
I locked it like when 'twas in 444,
but it won't lock my things like it did back then.
---
YOU ARE READING
Finite Infinitives
Poetry𝙁𝙞𝙣𝙞𝙩𝙚 𝙄𝙣𝙛𝙞𝙣𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙫𝙚𝙨 ╰ a c o m p i l a t i o n o f p o e m s ╰ c o m p l e t e d "I haven't done everything I want, but in the realm of reams, I already did some."
