665

A hastily scribbled message,
When in the course of the day,
A fear overtakes me,
A fear I know well.

So I grab my pen,
And scribble a note on my hand,
It’s meaning,
I assure myself,
Will be clear when I look back.

Then at the end of the long day,
I return at last to my home,
Sit down in my chair,
And breath freely at last.

Then I look down at my hand,
For no reason that I can say,
And see my hastily scrawled note,
I stop,
It’s meaning escapes me.

What was I thinking,
When I wrote this down,
Lost to time,
Lost to space.

I thought for sure I would know,
Even at my lowest,
I am me,
And I know me.

But there it sits,
Meaningless art,
A code without a cypher,
A person without a place.

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