Passing years

Through passing years the self is constant,
remaining in that place of known being,
no matter what changes are wrought upon,
flesh and face and outward appearances,

feeling always as the I and Me of identity,
whether six or sixty, or girl, woman, wife,
mother, sister, daughter, friend, cousin, or
any of the names we tie to ourselves as we

pass through time as the unique being that
we were born, and do remain, even as the
costume of our material self, wears, and
softens, folding, relaxing, feeling into new

places of physical shape and form, and as
roles change, and labels become worn and
shabby, and even gender loses meanings it
once held, and we return to the place where

we began, knowing it for the first time as
self grown, fully ripened, ready for bursting
into death, broken asunder, the seeds of
futures filling, within the quietened mind.

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About rosross

Editor, writer, poet.
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