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Hic Sunt Dracones



What is almost-necessary and almost-impossible
they work to make impossible.
What is right in front of you they take away.
When you go after it
they trip you and laugh.
"Sorry, sorry! Ha ha ha!"
When you try to forget it
they remind you.
"Don't remember? Have forgotten?"
Then the next thing, all over again—
"Must keep trying, mustn't give up!"—
as they make the empty space
around you larger and larger,
ever more barren.

"Are failing, are a failure!"
What was full must be emptied.
What was warm must be made colder.
What was good be sullied.
Everything, always, made worse.
Creatures of spite and venom
interfering, dismantling, removing.
"Sorry, sorry! Ha ha ha."
The sun, furious, impotent,
burns itself up (but slowly).
The distance between what is
and what might have been
is the distance one walks
in a lifetime.

All poems are written and copyrighted by Michael C. Rush.
None may be republished or repurposed without permission.