Lost, a poem by Charles Bukowski

no

we can’t we can’t win it

I’ve decided we can’t win it

just for a while we thought we could but that was just for a while

now we know we can’t win it

we can’t stand still and win it or run and win it

or do right and win it

or do wrong and win it

somebody else is going to win it

that’s why somebody else is there and we are here

it is terrible to be defeated in what seems to count

it will happen

to accept it is impossible

to know it is more important than doves or switchbrakes or love

 

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