sometimes made of metal and other times no more than a passing fancy
whether deciding to be the destroyer of myths or the conjurer of rumors
no one force of nature may predict one’s inclinations
They are like a body of water
tranquil at times and raging at others

I’m inclined to recline when it comes to proclaiming my inclinations
Sometimes I’m in the water facing the surface yet never catching breath
never gaining air smothered by the cooling mass
a desire beyond all that I can bear to have my face escape this watery grave
but I can’t since I’m held back

though swaying with every easy and pretty word that comes my way but what holds me fast
against those pretty persuasions
maybe that mountain of memory, usually the weakest of all muscles,
that I’ve enforced by will to create a tower
that hampers even the most potent attraction
I will always be true even when swimming in the raging surf.
I’ve no reason to survive if I forfeit that.


4 thoughts on “inclinations

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