To write or not to write…or is it

to right or not to right wrongs…

at least, as I perceive them

to be in this world rife with

reasons to bear resentments

like sentiments of one’s own

semblance of resemblance,

looking back in the mirror,

a reflection of insurrection,

as we look upon ourselves

with passive remembrance

of a past long forgotten by

a mind that cannot bear to

hold its own in a world of

chaos, where resentements

are rife with sentiments

like the resemblance of one’s

own hard-won countenance;

the face appears to be a place,

the landscape of warring

factions that never make

for peace, because everyone

is so busy with the resentments

that land upon the face as

the faceless clock of time

runs out?