The Aegis-Grin

:: Inconclusion

No matter how good it gets,
it never gets easy;
balancing on a dime
one nervous tick from tipping.
 
It never gets easy,
when you’re
one nervous tick from tipping,
focus seldom shifts.
 
When you are
where you are,
focus seldom shifts
from where you’ve been—
 
where you are
always pining for that home,
going out from where you’ve been
and not finding it;
 
always pining for that home,
always reading your sad poems
and not finding it
means much anymore.
 
You. Always writing your sad poems—
did you find respite?
Does it even mean much anymore?
Do you even want it?