Ruthless

gray pathway surrounded by green tress
Photo by Skitterphoto on Pexels.com

This transformation is picking every shrouds of sensitivity out of bones.

Ruthless and rude

Is it me,

There’s no moment to ask,

where’s the celebration for it,

There’s no moment for it,

Is there no right to ask,

The transformation is the price,

There’s a price to pay

There are gifts

but gifts without whistles

They are confounding to the mind,

The gifts of universe in kind,

There’s no defining moment,

There’s just the  path and the find…

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