life rolls on
as the hills
over the hill over
the hump, at least
will i
be ever satisfied
with who i am or
what i have become?
or is life
supposed to be
forever a bitter
disappointment?
forty eight
is not quite fifty
too close, i would say
the fa(r)ther away the better
no running in
the other direction
but try to run
i must & i do
because fifty
is too close
to a conveniently
imagined halfway
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