Tangled, I am in
A mesh of my own making.
Not even worth,
the moolah I am raking.
With a fine tooth comb,
I go through several listings,
Shake out of my inertia
Cutting off the apron strings.
A new year,
A new beginning awaited
Likely to be disappointed,
Can never be sated.
A restlessness felt by many these days. Poetry is our ease. If only we could make "moolah" with it. -Dawn, CreatetheDawn
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