The New Excuse

It’s that sweet spot
At the centre of your soul,

The incessant voice
That never talks about
Tomorrow,

The recurring song
That only you sing,

The doubt canceller,
The ‘come what may’,
The egoist,
The rush,

The never stuttering,
Always fluttering,
Rattle within.

It’s there when you wake
And whispering
As you sleep,

It curls up in coils
That spring
When released

(And it thrives
After peace).

It’s the new excuse,
The half filled cup,

And it wrestles forever
Or until you give up.

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