When a factor,

a measure in time,

while the observer

the other’s own dime


held out to the beggar

for the sake of truth

to confront that pallor

would it be uncouth.


To trigger the moment

we all lose our shell

in pity we might lament

our loss is our hell.


Have we crossed the line,

lost our grip on soul

or is this only a whine

while we play our role.


When once the word rang

strong in a crowd of eyes,

now it seems we do hang

only upon the other’s I’s.


Workplace monotony

could paralyze the confident

when idle scrutiny,

the albatross does resent.


For when I die, I might be

happier, or fly above the sea.


2 responses to “Prowess

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