Casting an eye on I and I

There’s a weakness to it all
A fragility beneath the ability
to seek ends of threads of cotton of the ball
and pull pull pull until all is loose
The hook on the line as it sits like a noose in the brook

Waiting

Contemplating time it took to break it all apart
Step step step by step, ever aching in heart
as the making of the rampart starts anew
Forsaking the arc of a dart that flew too far
through the dark to the parts of one who knows who you are

The Fool

Slips from cliff

The Hermit

Sits with bandaged wrists

From once neutered soul
The new and the old
tread dutifully onward on the pathway that splits
at centre
Traversing the line where the pupil is one with the mentor

No bile, no hate
Not early, nor late
In time they shall meet
in this figure of eight

The Pathway, by Josefus Haze

The Pathway

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