Fifty
Rip
I cannot escape
myself.
For fifty years now
I have run
from me, to what I
never knew.
How tiring it is!
The constant pace.
At every turn I�m
there
shouting the
reality of selfness.
I want to stop, to
stop, perhaps I�ll stop.
Today, today or
perhaps tomorrow
I�ll stop and
rest beneath a tree.