Strange thing this, to sit with silence –
millennia of regret; cold stones at our backs.
Clutching worry in work-worn hands,
we balance, fearful, on this brittle plinth,
while the gift of the unopened moment
lays unnoticed at our feet.
Filed under Couplets, Free Verse, Poetry
Tagged as anxiety, future, gift, mindfulness, moment, past, present, regret, worry, worry beads
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