Past personal concepts have been flawed

The frosting on the cake licked clean of sweetness

Only the cake is left

It’s grown moldy

So I throw it out into the trash

What a waste, I think

Then come back into the room to fill the washer with laundry

As if

It is fulfilling a desperate need to push forth

No need to sort I just toss it all in and put it on warm

Grabbing my coffee to watch the sunrise

It is another chance to get it right

To be found or to find

Should it happen, I know not

Only of each day sought out in destiny, fate, or perchance time.

I never believed time worked things out as they say

Perhaps it will prove to me it does.

If not, what have I lost?

As long as I’m useful.


Angela K. Crandall



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