I thought I could outrun endings
if I just stayed ahead,
spurring my legs
into wobbly froth.
I thought I could outswim losses
if I just surfed the crests,
impersonating mastery
of the waves.
I thought I could bribe grief
if I just stayed vigilant
and paid for constant upkeep.
I thought I could distract decay
with dutiful maintenance
and spinning crockery.
But flesh always gives,
numbers climb,
gravity wins,
and time dictates.
Sorrow postponed
is grief
inevitable.
© S. Rinderle, August 2025
