away
by john sweet
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the day held
at arm's length
do you call it
your own?
the houses grown from
muddy earth
the trees pulling away
from their shadows
what is the purpose here
or are you content
just to breathe?
do you understand that
nothing
is unknowable
that the sun will live to
consume us all?
and yes there are
those who will
die unloved
those who will become
tired of life
by age twenty-seven
and turn their last hours
into tragic myths
heros or ghosts or
just men
smothered by addiction
but this comes too close
to the face of
the sky
i want my son
to know more than
junkie worship
want him to believe in
something beyond the
vague abstractions
of the word
there is no great shame
in imagining myself
a stronger man than
my own father ever was
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