London Poem: Day 77

2 November

Reeling in sickly slumbers,
The world disappears
Behind hazy sight and
Droopy eyes.
Misery shackles plans,
But who are we to
Stand before nature and
Demand our place among the
Neatly lined folders,
and bookends that dictate our life?
Be still and let it come,
Because soon enough, as
All things in life are wont
To do, it shall pass.
Who we are away from
Order will blossom
And shades of former lives
Will peak and bring new longings.
It will all pass.

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In flux

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