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Better To Bend Than Be Broken (CHANGE)


So strange.
What I can always
rely upon
is
change.


Why should I bother?
Why, complain?
About anything as immovable,
predictably unpredictable
as change?


I take one big belly flop forward,
one bigger belly flop behind.
I'm not afraid. I'm trying
not to feel the edge
of IT.
Remain composed in my mind. Its
only the condition of the conditions of
change, unrefined.
Cursed change.


But, these days,
I feel like a beggar.
Like I've staked a corner
asking for spange. Pleading.
Asking for something better.
What I get is change.
Wicked change.


Whether its the wind direction,
whether its foul weather,
change,
can be counted on,
insincere BUT reliable,
sometimes undesirable
as pleather.
Blasted change.


Change. If I don't bend with it
I might snap.
I'm finding it more difficult
to rejoin my separate halves.
Damn change,
full speed ahead.


Change.
Who would've conjured it?
But I'm along for the ride.
Am I past the line of tolerance?
Am I past the point where
my thinning skills can abide?


As long as there is life,
then salt will flavor it.
One thing's certain:
Time.
And time will always sell,
that is,
the change of it.


Better to bend than be
broken
than lying in the grave.

Death can be so permanent.
Why not chose then,
change.

Copyright July 21  2013 Directly to the page. All Rights Reserved By Author
Melissa A Howells  Meloo Tilt-a-World





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