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Some people carry their birthright of sadness

wandering the world to a place

where their tears may distill in longing


As for me, I taste them in the corners of my lips

describing the whys and wherefores of my existence

somehow not of them nor they of me


Perhaps I am a boat that has set out on a voyage

without a compass or a star to mark

my destination in the deep on which I bob


No Magellan I and no Columbus

writing presumptions on the map of time

I ascertain my distance from the shore


By broken allegiances and names

I can’t recall.  Leviathan will swallow me

when doldrums leach the living from my heart


And to the waves and depths, and to the wind I say

I have a right to this small sadness

that sets my suffering off against the world’s

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© Johnmichael Simon



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