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Content is the word,

full and total,

no extras needed,

no adjectives surplus,

nor euphemisms bereft,


I am content,

and drifting,

from one sun to the next,

edging myself from the wares and worries,

that might otherwise drown me,

I'm wary of their lurking,

that stench of lingering too long,

and too aware of the ice,

that comes from leaving too often and too soon,

but still I am content,

and in the action of keeping it that way,

working steadily on the oars,

keeping that sail steady,

fiercely calm and to no more complaining,

for this calm shall be kept,

at the cost of you know what,

I shan't say lest I be too reminded,

memory does bring the wary,

and I'm wary of it,

wary of the worry,

lest I finally lose that content.

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