Roots

This habit of living life
in shadows of the past,
strengthens the roots.
The grave is cold,
as I dip in a cautious toe.

The past is littered
with empty holes,
each one for me.
One for each mistake,
I led a charmed life.

Now to sever the roots
holding me in purgatory,
to stretch branches forward,
to drop seeds into tomorrow.
Leaving the past to the grave

Stoic Poetry

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