I
was searching old journals for a poem I’d already written to post here tonight,
but they were way too personal and well… So, I wrote this instead.
Reflections
Keeping,
holding, clinging, burning,
I
thrust out pictures
Constructed
by rickety words
Wobbling
tower ready to fall
It
topples far over in order to lean on
Another
nearby thought
Together
they support each other
But
neither are safe to climb
Least
it collapse
As
a pile of sticks and stones
That
break my bones
And
may never harm me
But
my humor?
Well,
it is all serious
Scenarios
that life has thrown me
Under
the proverbial bus
Too
many times
Flattening
my resolve
I
close the cover
Put
it back on the shelf
To
open when I need
To
see where the scars formed
But
know how they healed
I
see those ghost’s features
Covering
my arms
And
only shines when
A
certain light falls on it
Otherwise
I forget it is there
But
I’ll always remember how it got there
Or
what is was to me then
And
is to me now
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