ten years hence

and so little
progress has been made
but is no more than
tail chasing
a sickness unto

what ought and what
is
or was
or will be

ten years and still
late night listening
and hiding from the
outside
it's so noisy
without them

holding alight
this is what I am
have done
have become

so tired
of twirling the maybetruths
between the gaps we tumble
and I worry

I'll be forgotten

10, thirty, 50 years
hence
and you
there reading will know
the spirit bows
but never completely breaks
as neither does the body
this reality ever become

an ought.