After The War

5 Dec

there is not much left
except urgency and rage
and the devils clinging to us,
trying to drag us back down;
digging their heels into the dirt.
braking.
braking.
time is running away from us so fast
it’s almost come back around, chasing us;
pushing, kicking, shoving us along with the race.

even the words don’t come anymore.
they’re hiding down somewhere.
the ink in the pen is dry.
it only makes anemic attempts
to flex its muscle.

we’re running angry
and we don’t know why
or what we’re chasing.
there is rage and urgency
and no time;
always no time.

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