What You Are Not

No
You are not
A passenger sitting
By the window
Of a chair car,
Writing a prose
On the beautiful
Mighty hills
Outside.

You are but
A passenger’s shadow
Forged out of the light
Escaping those hills.

You are but
A fleeting moment
Striving to survive
The distance that goes.

You are but
A single serving
That disappears
As the station arrives.

You are the prose.

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