Unsuitable

Unsuitable they are. I grow aware
their variance is indisputable.
The present state of them I now declare
unsuitable.

The situation’s not inscrutable –
one full of thought and one who doesn’t care
but claims her attitude’s immutable.

Long history can’t justify this wear.
Continuance is nothing beautiful.
It’s sad but true they’ve reached an end, for they’re
unsuitable.

This entry was posted in Aging, Personality, Poetry and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a comment